#in other news i fucking love that french has 2 words for wake up and get up whereas youve really got to specify it in english

[youaremysunshine-court]

The type of insomnia that wakes you up 3 hours before sunrise

[somer-writes]

20 questions for fic writers

1. How many works do you have on A03?

88 😅 i started posting fanfic Sep 30 2023. 87 works since then whoopsies (but theres a few wips in there)

2. What's your total A03 word count? 473,304...woof. i posted ~150k in november alone. i didnt actively participate in nano this year but figured i get an honorary win for that lmao

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Linked Universe! In high school I wrote Rise of the Guardians and Danny Phantom fic. These days its strictly Linked Universe cuz it scratches my brain just right

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Traveler's Landing - this was going to be part of a quick series of one off Wolfie reveals. It's just a silly goofy time ft Twilight stealing Hyrule's shoes and Legend going "it's on sight".

Puppysitting - which is funny bc i almost never posted this one. I am v careful when it comes to deage fics bc i think they can go very wrong very fast. it started as a silly thing and then ended up having some of my fav character bits!

Sacred Shadows - Twilight meets the chain. More like the chain meets Wolfie. Short fic left open ended. hc for wolfie being seen as a forest spirit.

Riverside R&R - one of those fluff wips lmao fluff is not my strong suit so i have to be in a mood to work on these longer fluff pieces. this is probably the goofiest thing ive written.

The Truth Hangs - based on a lovely piece of canine poetry. This one was super fun to write. everyone except wind and wild are horrible to twi for 40k words bc dink is a bastard.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes!!!!!! i love comments. theyre my drug of choice. i love waking up to new comments, i love when people engage with my work, i love making fandom friends <3 i feel so humbled when i get comments and it gives me warm fuzzies. i write for myself but it makes me so unbelievably happy that others enjoy my dumb ramblings

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

what a question! uuuuh....probably The Purple Door bc its a permanent injury fic and the emotional hurt is left open ended. i do try to give my works satisfying endings which usually ends on a slightly more positive note than the rest of the story. purple door is one that leaves what-ifs abound.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

this is a toughie. I think it's between Warriors' Last Straw which is just Sibling Rivalry the Fic or Ordonian Rams bc it ends with normal chain activities. a lot of my stuff is bittersweet so even my happy endings have a bit of melancholy.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

nope! everyone has been lovely so far. its so fun being able to debate hc's and discuss different interps and be able to respect each other. and a lot of the comments i get are so thoughtful and amazing and i feel like such a little punk when i get compliments and engagement like that.

9. Do you write smut?

yes actually! though i dont post it on my mains for obvs reasons XD im actually ace (i think???) so the smut i do write is usually on request or commission.

10. Do you write crossovers?

nope! i am already so nervous about fucking up the current property i write for that i wont even attempt that lmao

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i have not! even if i did idk that i'd be that mad about it. annoyed sure but imitation is flattery or smth. besides if there are younger (by younger i mean new) writers out there that take bits and pieces for their own stories, i dont take issue with that. god knows i was more than derivative when i first started writing

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! idk how big the LU fandom is and even then, if i wanted to i could translate my own work into (probably very formal) spanish or french. its the formatting that would get me and i would have to do some homework for a lot of the language i use. english has a lot of non translatable words at the end of the day. i wouldnt call myself fluent in either spanish or french so i would not have the wordcraft for it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no but when i was 12 my friend and i co wrote a pretty terrible story about a monster hunter named Nova. it got dramatic by ch 3 as all tween angst writings do XD i still have a copy of it!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

hard question hard question but its probably gotta be Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan from The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. so sweet, so precious. screaming crying as i read those books and watched the adaptations.

fandom specific, im a dedicate ilia/link shipper. i used to be anti midlink bc i think them having a platonic ship is so rich and interesting, but ive come around on the idea. twilight princess wise i am not a zelink person at all and i dont like that ship personally but i dont yuck yums

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

fanfic wise, its gotta be Honeydew. i like this idea a lot but i do not plot and ive gotten a little lost with it. it started as a silly concept and i just dont know where to go with it next. plus fluff is something i struggle with.

oc wise that would be Cieran Murphy's Arm which is a horror murder mystery about a vampire and a burgeoning psychic trying to hunt it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

character work. dialogue, i like to think, and disagreements. i like to think im super good at making characters motivated even if their actions are disagreeable.

i also like to think im okay at action/horror writing since thats mostly what i cut my teeth on. my writing style has changed a lot since i first started writing and i think how it is now is really conducive to sharp, quick punches.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

prose :( really its description and being flowery. im a bit of a minimalist. form follows function and all that. im pretty terrible at setting scenery in a way that feels like anything more than just set dressing

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i love it! i have a few different methods for it bc i love fucking with the meta of my work. so a lot of times i will straight up just write it in the other language without anything other than context clues for the reader to figure out what was said unless they know the language themselves.

other times, i use dialogue tags to indicate it was said in another language.

<i write sign language like this>

Somer 1002

And text messages like this

and when i have to make up a language i just write the words backwards XD

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Rise of the Guardians lmao i was so into jack frost angst. i think i was 14 or 15 when this movie came out. i had an oc and everything.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Hiding in Plain Sight - bc wars & twi brother fics are my favoritest thing ever and i love angst. i like the character stuff i did here and i got the hc gush with wars' backstory :D plus its short! i feel like my longer fics get a little obnoxious but thats probably bc i see how the sausage gets made with them

@hotcheetohatredwastaken @labyrinthdancer @rosehipandroots @sappytrees

do the thing!!!! im so curious!!!

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @the-real-azalea-scroggs! Had to wait until I was of my phone because doing these is a nightmare on mobile lmao

1. How many works do you have on A03?

18 as of a few days ago!

2. What's your total A03 word count?

60,763! Which is. Only a fraction of the word count in my Docs folder. Be prepared.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mainly write for The Legend of Zelda; specifically Linked Universe! In fact, that's all that's posted on my Ao3 currently, since my fall into that fandom began with me uploading there! Pre-Ao3 I wrote for Black Cat (Anime/Manga), Megaman NT Warrior, various Pokémon things, Assassin's Creed, Yugioh, Final Fantasy XIV and Octopath Traveler! Some of these I still write privately, but I haven't gotten around to re-posting any.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Whistling on Deaf Ears - My longest fic on Ao3, focusing on Wild and Twilight's friendship and how good intentions can lead to disaster.

Iconoclasm - Warriors deals with the room full of portraits in Cia's palace. The Chain also deals with it, but with a bit more fire.

Deserving - Twilight finally tells Rusl that he was the wolf in the village during TP, but that also means dealing with some heavier topics. Colin half overhears them and forms his own conclusions.

Something Greater - The start of the "Hyrule can see magical auras" series! In this one we deal with Legend and his many rings.

Ocean Magic - Mermaid Legend and Zora Time have a race and then fight one of the Big Octos from WW! Fun times.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Every single one!! I love comments, they give me an excuse to ramble about my fic more!! I am always down to ramble about every single insignificant detail of any line and/or section. If you ever want more background info about one of my fics, look to the comments! So please, I adore comments, I treat them like treasures, not responding to them would be a CRIME.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

There's no contest; Inevitable, my (so far) only MCD fic.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's hard to quantify. I usually try to end fics on a hopeful note regardless. I'd say possibly either Deserving, where Twilight reconnects with his family, or Shimmering Blue, Striking White, where Time meets the Fierce Deity settled down on Satori Mountain and they both get closure.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no! I've been blessed with mostly amazing and patient readers, even when my upload schedule isn't the best.

9. Do you write smut?

No, not really. I've attempted it, but I'm too asexual for it lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

Very, very rarely. Mostly privately, and only very specific ones. Only a single one has had an actual plot, so far (more on that one in question 15!).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a nope! I tend to write for smaller fandoms, where these things don't tend to happen a lot!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! But it's been a while. Over a decade, in fact! I tried to find the fic to link it here, but it was on the German fanfic website fanfiktion.de, and my friend who posted it back then must have deactivated her account, because it's nowhere to be seen (I still have the Word file though!). It was a Multi-Crossover that started as an RP in a forum, and we took turns turning the RP into prose one chapter each. "If a Hero Turns to Dark" was its title. We were edgy teenagers.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Hissssss. Bad question. Shoo. They are all equally important!! But it's probably TenRose from Doctor Who.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

One of the very few crossovers I've ever worked on; a crossover fic between Assassin's Creed and Doctor Who, that I have mapped out in both chronological and timeline order, and yes, those are different. I only ever wrote about a quarter of it, since my primary audience of it disappeared when we graduated. I doubt I'll ever pick it back up properly, and if I do it'll probably go through heavy rewrites first since it's so old. Finishing it is a nice thought, but realistically, after 9 years it'll never be high priority enough for it to actually happen.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, especially arguments, and emotional impact. I've been told I do really well making characters feel alive and believable! Also I like to believe I'm decent at setting a scene and giving it the vibe I want it to have!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with dialogue tags when nothing much is happening besides the talking. I always feel it's too bland, and fall back on the same phrases. My scene transitions could use some work too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done this with Japanese phrases, because I was a massive weeb. Usually I followed them up with their own translations, though; I'm not the biggest fan of footnote translations, unless they are properly linked to. Simple dialogue tags are my favourite way of indicating a language switch.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Black Cat the Manga/Anime! It's a series about an assassin turned bounty hunter trying to live a life separate from his murdery past, but getting dragged back into things by still wanting to avenge his best friend's death. The series has a special place in my heart and my bookshelf, it left an imprint on 13-year-old me that will never leave.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Probably Jailbreak, uncharacteristically enough! It's one of the only fics I never got stuck in once. Writing it was a great feeling from start to finish. I love writing all of my fics, but that was a special few days.

Tagging @ahrva @nowhere-to-go-but-down @silvercaptain24 and @aeghina! And anyone who wants to do it, really, go wild

[maxfieldparrishes]

masterpost of boe name references/sources

I really wanted to make a post about the names of certain (and by certain I mean Wake, We Suffer, Crown Him with Many Crowns, and Unjust Hope) BoE members because I’m 

  a) a huge-ass nerd who loves doing research and 

b) super fascinated by all Tazmuir’s references so here goes nothing lmao 

  (If we get any of the other names in full, I’ll add them here too!)

  First on the docket: Griddle’s mom (has got it going on). Wake’s name has been pretty thoroughly “decrypted,” for lack of a better word, so I’m just going to compile it all here for funsies.

Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity

Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead

A reference to Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act I, Scene II. For context: in the scene, Henry demands to know if his claim to the French throne is legitimate. His advisors, the Bishops of Ely and Canterbury and 2 other nobles (Exeter and Westmoreland), state that it is, and encourage him to pursue war with France, reminding him of the glory of his ancestors, “the former lions of [his] blood” (I.II. sorry I don’t have line numbers!)

ELY

Awake remembrance of these valiant dead

And with your puissant arm renew their feats:

You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;

The blood and courage that renowned them

Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege

Is in the very May-morn of his youth,

Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.

EXETER

Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth

Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,

As did the former lions of your blood.

Kia Hua Ko Te Pai

A reference to Aotearoa’s (New Zealand’s) national anthem, in te reo (Maori), “E Ihowā Atua.” The line translates as “may/let goodness flourish.”

Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity

you better LOSE YOURSELF IN THE MUSIC THE MOMENT YOU OWN IT YOU BETTER NEVER LET IT GO (OH)

Moving on! We Suffer under the cut (pun not intended but I’m sorry this is so text-heavy!)

We Suffer and We Suffer 

We Suffer and We Suffer

(Likely) a reference to Robert Fagles’ translation of Aeschylus’s Agamemnon. The line, as Fagles translates it, is “but Justice turns the balance scales, sees that we suffer and we suffer and we learn” (250-1). 

For context: A watchman waits for a signal confirming a Greek victory in Troy. He laments his boredom and the current state of Mycenae and the House of Atreus, and complains of Clytemnestra, Agamemnon’s wife, and her apparent lack of femininity: “She in whose woman's breast beats heart of man” (I.I.still no fucking line numbers!), not knowing of her plot to kill Agamemnon as he returns home from war, in revenge for his sacrifice of their daughter Iphigenia for favorable winds to sail for Troy. The chorus then enters, and praises the gods while catching everyone up on the story thus far, including Agamemnon’s sacrifice of Iphigenia at the behest of Calchas, the seer. 

(If interested in Iphigenia’s story, check out Iphigenia in Aulis by Euripides.)

It’s also worth keeping in mind that Agamemnon is the first play in a series of three by Aeschylus, the Oresteia, which details the murder of Agamemnon and its fallout, the downfall of the House of Atreus and the end of its curse, and thematically discusses questions of justice, retaliation, and revenge. Very apropos. 

Note: the translation of this line, as far as I’ve dug (so not super far), seems to be specific to Fagles. Other translators of Agamemnon, such as Anne Carson and E.D.A Morshead translate it differently.

Anne Carson: “Justice tips her scales so that we learn by suffering” (I.I.179-180)

E.D.A Morshead: “This wage from justice' hand do sufferers earn / The future to discern ” (I.I.deep sigh)

Moving on! 

Crown Him with Many Crowns

Crown Him with Many Crowns

A reference to a Christian hymn of the same name, written by Matthew Bridges. Traditionally set to the tune of a song called “Diademata” (itself derived from the Greek word for “crown”) by English organist and composer Sir George Job Elvey (the song was apparently composed for the hymn), but arrangements have been updated in the recent past.  

This one is tricky, because this song is Very John, so... perhaps Crown is the link between the upper echelons of the empire and BoE?

Much to think about. Next!

Some relevant verses:

Crown him with many crowns,

The Lamb upon his throne;

Hark! how the heavenly anthem drowns

All music but its own:

Awake, my soul, and sing

Of him who died for thee,

And hail him as thy matchless king

Through all eternity.

[...]

Crown him the Lord of peace!

Whose power a scepter sways,

From pole to pole,--that wars may cease,

Absorbed in prayer and praise:

his reign shall know no end,

And round his pierced feet

Fair flowers of paradise extend

Their fragrance ever sweet.

Crown him the Lord of years!

The Potentate of time,--

Creator of the rolling spheres,

Ineffably sublime!

Glassed in a sea of light,

Where everlasting waves

Reflect his throne,--the Infinite!

Who lives,--and loves--and saves.

[...]

Crown him with crowns of gold,

All nations great and small,

Crown him, ye martyred saints of old,

The Lamb once slain for all;

The Lamb once slain for them

Who bring their praises now,

As jewels for the diadem

That girds his sacred brow.

Crown him the Son of God

Before the worlds began,

And ye, who tread where He hath trod,

Crown him the Son of Man;

Who every grief hath known

That wrings the human breast,

And takes and bears them for His own,

That all in him may rest.

Crown him the Lord of light,

Who o'er a darkened world

In robes of glory infinite

His fiery flag unfurled.

And bore it raised on high,

In heaven--in earth--beneath,

To all the sign of victory

O'er Satan, sin, and death.

Crown him the Lord of life

Who triumphed o'er the grave,

And rose victorious in the strife

For those he came to save;

His glories now we sing

Who died, and rose on high.

Who died, eternal life to bring

And lives that death may die.

[...]

Unjust Hope

Unjust Hope 

Te Whaea, according to my search, is te reo (Maori) for “the Mother,” but... I think more in the sense of a title than a relationship, in context? 

A reference to the poem “The Ikons” by New Zealand poet James K. Baxter. The line is as follows:

“Hard, heavy, slow, dark,

Or so I find them, the hands of Te Whaea

Teaching me to die. Some lightness will come later

When the heart has lost its unjust hope

For special treatment.” [...] (1-5)

There is soup made in this poem

And a river used in good old TLT context! (the context is death btw)

On a meta note, James K. Baxter was raised as not practicing any particular faith, or so I understand, but was a devout Catholic in his later years. He was also passionate about Maori culture in New Zealand and heavily embraced it, likely most exposed to it by his wife Jacquie Sturm, who was Maori herself - however, his reputation is not spotless and his treatment of women (including Jacquie) has been heavily criticized. 

That said, this poem... oof

h e l p

“[...] and the fist of longing

Punches my heart, until it is too dark to see” (21-22) 

And that’s all I have so far! As more information comes out (or the book) I’ll update this post as needed! 

Thanks for reading! 

[double-hoe-seven]

AFC Richmond as boyfriends

Here’s a lil headcanon collection of our favorite himbos as boyfriends.

I did it again for the staff (: AFC Richmond Staff as partners

A/N: Definitely didn’t put everyone but these were my top ones and it’s 2 AM so imma leave it here.

Sam Obisanya

The absolute sweetest man you have ever met

Such a softie, very concerned about making sure you’re happy and comfortable with whatever choices you make together.

He always picks the most random times to surprise you with things; showing up at your work randomly for lunch or with coffee/tea, random little souvenirs from his away games.

He’s always putting himself second and sometimes you have to remind him “hey, babe, you can do things for yourself, you deserve nice things too.”

Just, compliments galore with him. He’ll always find a way to compliment you on something.

The most cuddly person ever, he loves public affection (hand holding, piggy backing, hugging, kissing if it’s not raunchy, etc), he really just likes showing you off because he feels like the luckiest man in the world to have you.

He takes his time with your relationship, letting it bloom and grow at it’s own pace.

There aren’t many fights between you, hardly ever, the last “fight” you had was because you couldn’t unanimously decide which dog to rescue. The solution? You adopted both, now you share a one-eyed Jack Russell Terrier named Starro and a three legged German Shepherd puppy named Harry (Pawter. He was so proud at his pun when he showed you the then 3-month old puppy.)

Again, just the sweetest, more romantic man you’ve ever met and ever will meet.

thesexisgoodtoo. hesaverygentleandgivinglover

Isaac McAdoo

Man’s stubborn.

I mean it, he is as stubborn as a mule.

I’M DEAD SERIOUS, he once pouted for 5 days when you accidentally ate the last Rolo in the flat.

But he’s also romantic in a sort of rugged way?

He won’t go shopping with you but he knows what colors look best on you, he knows what styles look good on you, and he has your sizes and shades memorized.

Bear.

Mr. sometimes-crank-teddy-bear over here.

He’ll say he doesn’t want something but he will eat half of your food if given the chance. If you step away from your food to get a drink or something, there will be a good part mission when you get back.

Its a tradition to go on a date the morning of a game, and snuggle up with a movie after the game.

You have had more than a few drunk texts from him, all of them equally funny and full of sexual innuendos.

You don’t address his Rolo addiction. It could be something much worse anyway.

Richard Montlaur

So many visits to the goat farm he was raised on!

He really has to drag you back to London after visiting his parents because you don’t want to leave all the precious goats (and you and his parents get along famously).

You spend alternating holidays with each others families (except for Bastille day, you always spend that either together or with his family.)

There are always roses in your shared flat.

It’s a constant battle over his facial hair.

He has a grudge against the way the English make French pastries.

He has a habit of falling asleep on the couch or in uncomfortable positions and then wondering why his back or neck hurts.

Little spoon.

He’s teaching you French.

This man is a smooth operator, master at flirtation and romance. He’s good at planning romantic dates and outtings.

Dani Rojas

You 100% believe his mom when she says he was born caffeinated.

One of your first dates was a Mumford and Sons concert which was an interesting experience.

Soft boi hours with him. He’s a lil puppy dog.

Does this man ever sleep? Rarely.

He rises with the son and wants to get the day started immediately but he’s mostly letting you sleep in now.

He LOVES trying new things, exploring new places, generally having new experiences.

His absolute favorite thing to do when he’s not training is playing football (or any game, really) with the kids in your neighborhood. They all love him.

He’s a sweet boyfriend, not as sweet as Sam but he’s a close second.

You alternate who plans date night. You split the chores 50/50 but divvy it up if one of you is sick or has more work to do.

There’s so much alcohol in your flat its unreal.

You usually go to sleep before him but he has a bad habit of throwing himself into bed and partially waking you.

He makes the best breakfast most mornings.

And don’t forget the trips back home to visit his family in Guadalajara.

After a long day of training, he loves just laying down with his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair.

Jamie Tartt (Season 1)

FUCK NO

Jamie Tartt (Season 2)

On your first date you got drunk and bonded over shitty fathers.

Not that either of you really remembered the next day, you were both too hungover to immediately recall the night.

His love language is kind words.

At the start he needed a lot of reassuring that you did care about him for who he was, warts and all.

He’s slightly awkward when it comes to romantic gestures so most of the date planning falls on you don’t mind.

He still has some high maintenance behavior but he’s working on it and you’re proud of how far he’s come from the prick he used to be.

Your fights are usually over petty shit like where to eat for dinner or what movie to go see.

He will not hesitate to buy your feminine products for you. He knows your preferred brands and sizes and what treats you like when its that time.

He’s good at those rigged carnival games, the many little stuffed animals in your closet can attest to that.

He talks in his sleep. It’s all nonsense.

He has a soft spot for the neighbor’s cat (and cats in general).

Roy Kent

Rugged.

He’s great to snuggle up to.

The man is honest to boot. He doesn’t sugar coat anything at all.

10/10 times he will go down on you if asked. He’s a giver.

He is the heaviest sleeper in the world. You don’t know why he bothers setting alarms.

Phoebe has a room at your flat and spends so much time with you both.

Many nights have been spent reading different books on the couch together.

He has to clean the drains since 75% of it is his.

Fuck is a very versatile word in your home, used daily.

Not the most romantic man alive but he has his moments.

Date nights are usually relaxed and proper but sometimes you can make the old man have a little fun.

He growls at least a dozen times a day, it’s his main response.

Jan Maas

My beloved

My sweet, beloved Jan who can’t/won’t use a filter to save his life.

He’s blunt in everything and sometimes it makes you want to slap him.

Jan is still getting used to English ways and mannerisms.

He has good intentions but sometimes needs a little help with wording.

He likes going on Aquarium dates.

The more tired he is, the clingier he is and it’s too cute.

Once after a game he plopped onto the couch next to you and basically tried to curl up in your lap.

He can make amazing pancakes.

Thats it though.

You’ll do most of the cooking if you value living in a flat that’s not on fire.

He’s a sweetheart though.

Mostly good intentions though.

Doesn’t mind nudity and had to quickly be reined in by the team. Not at home though.

At home he can easily be found lounging in boxers and a t-shirt while he sips coffee.

He knows what he’s doing.

Tag Team: @bdffkierenwalker​

[smoochkooks]

—hymne a l’amour (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, fluff, tiny bits of angst

⟶ word count: 5.5k

⟶ summary: it’s valentine’s day and your boyfriend decides to surprise you in more ways than one. and when you’re dating park jimin, cocky, smart and obnoxiously good-looking archeologist, you can be sure of absolutely nothing.

⟶ warnings: dom!jimin, sub!reader, big dick!jimin, sir kink, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, ass slapping, dirty talk, use of degrading names, unprotected sex, mentions of jimin having a daddy kink, jimin being disgustingly sweet boyfriend, oc having at least 2 (two) mental breakdowns, cringy valentine’s day presents

this is eldorado valentine’s day special but it can be read as a standalone. enjoy! xx

Spending Valentine's Day in the city of Paris is like walking through the streets of Beijing and smelling the strong essence of soy sauce and chicken every time you take a breath.

Overwhelming.

(Or at least that's what you think is a good comparison, since you've never stood your foot in Beijing before.)

Paris seems to be on another level when it comes to celebrating Valentine's Day. It's because that's the city of love, someone may say, but no, my friend, it's not just that. French grammar isn't the only stupid thing about said country. Citizens are even weirder, in more ways than one. It's the Eiffel Tower and the smell of garlic that disguises it all when you first visit France.  

A week before February 14th, restaurants, cafees and grocery shops are all covered from head to toe in red hearts, chubby cupids, big teddy bears, various kinds of roses and, at the top of that – everywhere you focus your eyes on, you spot those huge inscriptions where words ‘love’ and ‘I love you’ are spelled in hundred different types of swirly fonts.

It's all too kitschy for your liking but tourists and locals don’t actually mind it even a bit. Once a year Paris turns into a set of the most cliché rom-com and no matter how irksome it might feel, you just have to survive this festival of boofonery.

You've always despised Valentine's Day with every fiber of your being (mostly because you hadn’t had anyone you could actually spend this day with) but your judgement took a sharp three-sixty turn when certain blond, charismatic man entered your life. Now, while you’re happily taken, a romantic dinner and a bouquet of red roses don’t sound that bad.  

But when you're dating someone like Park Jimin, a smart-ass, cocky and obnoxiously good-looking archeologist, you can be sure of abosultely nothing.  

It's a little past ten, you’re laying in your king-size bed, a day before the actual Valentine's Day. Jimin informed you he was going to be late for dinner because of some extra paperwork he had to do in the office, so you patiently wait for him. Wrapped like a fancy Christmas gift in a new pair of flimsy, lacy lingerie you recently bought in Victoria’s Secret, all hidden underneath Jimin's baggy t-shirt (the combination of casual and slutty never fails to drive him crazy). The set is cute, in a baby pink colour. The last time you pulled a move like this, Jimin went hard, literally and lyrically.

Let's just say that Park Jimin (and his dick) likes high-quality underwear.

Dating Jimin has taught you a few things, one of them being that his sex drive is insatiable, so you always need to be prepared. That’s why you're now laying here, on your bed, freshly shaved and smelling of coconut, your precious pussy ready to be worshipped by Jimin's mouth.  

When you hear the familiar jingle of keys and the door to your apartment swings open, you squeal in excitement, grabbing your phone from the nightstand to scroll through it mindlessly so you don’t come across a girl whose only purpose in life is to get dicked down by her boyfriend.

(Which, right now, is your only purpose.)

“Babe, I’m home!”

You hear Jimin pulling off his shoes and coat, so you shout back, “I’m in the bedroom!”

He seemed to be in a good mood in the morning and if nothing's changed, you're positive about getting some action tonight. A well-deserved orgasm after work it's all you crave. You squeeze your thighs, and wait.

“God, I’m so fucking exhausted.” Jimin announces upon entering the room and as soon as those words leave his mouth, he collapses face down onto the bed. His lifeless corpse smells like sweat mixed with his usual cologne and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

And that’s on getting railed by your boyfriend tonight.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs after a moment, voice laced with tiredness. He grunts and lifts himself up to place a chaste kiss on your lips. He tastes like bitter coffee and it makes you cringe, but you kiss him back nonetheless. He pulls off too fast for your liking and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck instead. He cuddles into your side, mumbling something about you feeling warm.

In your head, you count. When was the last time you two had sex? Right, last Tuesday. Oh boy, what a night it was. Your ass still hurts a little while sitting on a chair, a byproduct of your boyfriend's palm landing smack after smack on your cheeks. Lesson learned: never smile too broadly to the waiter who blatantly flirsts with you. You're sure the whole appartment complex heard that night who makes you feel that good  

(As if they don’t already know.)

See? Park Jimin is unpredictable.

“How was work?’’ you decide to ask instead, clearing your thoughts from the inappropriate images of Jimin’s bare body pressed to yours as he fucked you that night. You thread your fingers through his blond locks just the way he likes, massaging his scalp.

He sighs, his words muffled when he speaks. “This new employee can’t do shit. I had to prepare everything before tomorrow's expedition by myself,” he says. “I have to tell Namjoon to fire his ass.”  

You falter your movements for a second. Right, the expedition. You completely forgot about it. Jimin's going to be out of town for the whole day, digging in the soil in some French village the name of you cannot pronounce.

It looks like your fancy lingerie has to wait for her big premiere a little longer.  

“What time are you planning to be back home?” you ask.

“Dunno. Probably late.” Jimin exhales loudly, his breath tickling your neck. His hand travels to your nude thigh, giving it a firm squeeze. You fight back a moan that threatens to spill from you mouth. You really need to get laid soon. “We set off at 6am.” he adds, tracing circles on your bare skin. Your smile drops.

So the plans for morning sex on Valentine's Day stay where they belong. In your dreams.  

“You're so soft. And you smell like coconuts. I could stay like this forever.” Jimin mumbles, circling your waist with his arms and pulling you even closer to him.  

You sigh, basking in this situation just for a while, stroking Jimin's hair and listening to his steady breathing until he eventually falls asleep. Still fully clothed, still with his hand on your thigh. Carefully, so you don’t wake him up, you get up from the bed to take off your underwear. You do feel a little disappointed, but it's okay.  

When you settle yourself on the bed next to Jimin again, your back facing him, a strong arm pulls you flush to his body. You hear him sighing with relief, and it makes you smile to yourself.  

Lights off, everything can wait for tomorrow.

In the morning, just like expected, you wake up alone. There's no sight of Jimin, his side of the bed empty and cold. For your dismay, there’s no bouquet of red roses waiting for you in the kitchen, no box of chocolates or a small, cheesy note with your name written on it. Not even a short “Happy Valentine's Day, baby!” text on your phone. Absolutely nothing.  

You tells yourself it’s fine. Maybe Jimin didn’t have enough time, maybe he was too occupied with expedition to prepare something special, maybe the big surprise is yet to come. However, you can’t quite shake off the feeling that something do seem odd and it makes you anxious. Leaving without a single text is not Jimin's style. Not when it's your first Valentine's Day spend together.

You probably shouldn’t worry that much. It's not a big deal, after all you hate those types of annual holidays and Jimin knows it. Yet something about the whole situation makes you uncontrollably uneasy. You have never been like this, vulnerable and sheepish. You hate Park Jimin for turning you into such a softie.

Walking through the streets of Paris makes you feel nauseous. You look at all the happy couples sucking each others’ faces for everyone to see and fight an urge to gag. Someone shouts “Love is in the air!” and you almost throw up. Everytime you see someone holding heart-shaped balloons or flowers, you whip your head in other direction. It's nothing, you keep reminding yourself. A stupid holiday that doesn’t mean anything at all.

But the actual nail to the coffin happens to be the atmosphere in Eldorado headquarters. It drives you absolutely crazy.

It's 12am and still no word from Jimin. You checked: this bastard was online one hour ago, so he just doesn’t want to talk to you. Fine, mister. If this is how you wanna play, try sucking your dick by yourself, beacuse I’m not getting near it anytime soon, you think to yourself, filled with rage.

Yeri wiggles her pretty eyebrows at you and asks about your plans for tonight. You fake a giggle, saying that Jimin will probably surprise you with something when he gets back from his expedition. The words taste bitter on your tongue, especially when the high hopes you had simply melted away this morning. Your friend then starts babbling about the restaurant she's going to with Jungkook after work and you listen to her rant with forced smile on your face the whole time.

Meanwhile, a few meters away from you Hoseok is giggling like a teenager, typing something on his phone, without a doubt (sex)texting his girlfriend. She's out of town and you’re more than sure Hoseok hasn't gone to bathroom ten minutes ago just to take a piss. Even Namjoon is in a pleasant mood today, humming some old ABBA hits under his breath. Yesterday he couldn’t shut up about his date with a girl who’s also his new neighbour. He met her when she came by to give him homemade croissants. Ironically, that sounds a lot like some kdrama lovestory to you, and Namjoon hates kdramas.

During lunch time, you scroll through your Instagram and almost slam your phone on the wall. There's a new photo uploaded on Kim Seokjin's account.  

kimseokjin92: Celebrating Valentine's Day on Maldives w @minsuga #couplegoals #boyfriends #valentinesday #loveislove

They are on fucking Maldives. Fucking Maldives! You grit your teeth. It's fine. Completely fine.

But the absolute peek, the moment when you almost break down into tears and curl yourself into a ball of misery, comes in the person of Jeon Jungkook. He enters the office with a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses you have ever seen, a huge grin plastered on his stupid face.

Your heart clenches in your chest. Park Jimin could never.  

Jungkook hands Yeri the flowers and she laughs, slapping his chest when he starts declaiming Romeo's monologue from the Shakespeare’s tragedy. He then kisses his girlfriend deeply and lovingly, making her cheeks flush in crimson. Hoseok coos at them, Namjoon following him. You swear you saw Jungkook's tongue in the process of said heavy make out session.  

(Jealously is an awful emotion, you've decided a long time ago.)

An hour later, the bouquet stands proudly on Yeri’s desk and you stare at it with melancholy. You briefly avert your gaze to Jimin's desk and the memories flash before your eyes. The same desk he had you bent over, skirt bunched around your waist and cock drilling into your pussy, when you both stayed together at work after hours not so long ago.  

You mentally slap yourself. Get your shit together, woman. It's not like he broke up with you. It's just some stupid holiday. It's nothing.

“Something's wrong?’’ Yeri asks you with genuine concern written on her face.  

You swallow, forcing yourself to smile. “No, everything's fine. Just a headache.”  

She eyes you suspiciously. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” you say. Even though your friend doesn’t look convinced, she eventually stops bothering you.

It's all good. My boyfriend forgot about our first Valentine's Day together but everything's alright. No worries, you want to say instead.  

Later that day, when you exit the elevator and walk straight to your apartment, a strange smell of something burning fills your nostrils. Is that food? A real fire? No, that's definitely some meat that stayed too long in the oven.

The closer you are, the smell becomes stronger, like it’s actually coming from your apartment. You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the fuck.” you mutter to yourself.  

When you open the door, your jaw falls slack, eyes wide like saucers.

Never, in your entire life, had you thought  you would see Park Jimin, your own dearest boyfriend, popping out from the kitchen with his hair disheveled, sweat coating his forehead, wearing a black suit underneath the most ridiculous apron you have ever seen: pink with a big-ass ‘mr good lookin is cookin' written in the middle.  

(Can someone remind you why are you dating him? Oh, thank God he isn’t naked underneath.)

He looks completely lost when he spots you, waving awkwardly in your direction. It's probably the first time he touched something in the kitchen that isn’t coffee machine. He’s so flustered that you almost forget he nearly turned your apartment into ashes.

“Hi, babe.” he says sheepishly.

It takes all the willpower you hold not to spit a lung watching your boyfriend who absolutely hates cooking, trying to look unimpressed by the smell of burnt food. He does a pretty poor job though, an apron not helping in the situation.

“Happy Valentine's Day!’’ he exclaims perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, approaching you and planting a kiss on your cheek. And after that, you burst into hysterical laughter.  

(Seriously, you almost lose your own breath three times.)

Jimin looks terrified but most importantly – put out. You’re probably hurting his enormous, almost the size of Russia pride right now. (Not your fault Jimin has the biggest praise kink on the planet.)  

“Why are you laughing? Is it because of the chicken? Fine, I can’t cook for shit but I tried, okay? I didn’t have enough time and it was the middle of the night in Korea so I couldn’t just facetime my mum for advice and-”

You interrupt his rambling with a searing kiss, effectively shutting him up. He falters for a moment but quickly catches up, pulling you closer to him, placing his hands on your waist and deepening the kiss.  

But then, when his about to trail kisses down your throat, you hit his arm.

“What was that for?!” Jimin yelps, looking at you with astonishment.

“I thought you fucking forgot about the Valentine’s Day!” you yell, slapping his chest. “Why didn't you tell me about this?!”

“Because the definition of surprise says you can’t reveal it sooner?” he reponds in a mocking tone.

“Oh, shut up.” you grumble and pull him in for another kiss. You could feel him smiling into it, cheekily biting onto your lower lip. He places a loving peck on your forehead and brushes the strands of your hair behind your ears. There's so much affection in his eyes you could melt into a puddle right here and there.

“I’m sorry. Jungkook told me you looked upset the whole day.” he whispers.

“I wasn't!” you protest.

“He told me you almost cried when he gave Yeri a bouquet of red roses.”  

This stupid brat.

You look up at Jimin. “Fine. I was mad. And sad. Everyone was having the time of their lives and here I was, on a verge of mental breakdown because my idiot of a boyfriend supposedly forgot about the Valentine's Day.” you say, crossing your arms over chest with a pout.  

Jimin rolls his eyes and takes your hand, leading you to the living room, where a bottle of (your absolute favourite) wine is standing on the table, along with candles and, yes, red roses. It's too cheesy and straight from the cringy rom-coms but you don't mind, because it's Jimin and he poured his heart into this and it's all that matters.

When he approaches you again, he isn’t wearing that stupid apron and you blush at how perfect he looks, almost painfully handsome. His hair needs a cut so it’s pushed back from his forehead. God reincarnated in the form of a smart, cocky archeologist who happens to be your boyfriend.

You're, well, in your black jeans and baby blue sweater and you probably stink, but Jimin assures you with his loving touches he doesn’t mind, never will. He always does that, looking at you with those sparkling eyes which say you're the most beautiful thing in the world for him.

And it doesn't matter how many times you scold him throughout the day, how many banters you have over silly things, because at the end of the day, in each others’ embraces, it feels like home for the both of you.

“Since the chicken chickened out,” Jimin says nonchalantly, filling your glasses with red wine. “We can always get drunk and watch some old romantic movies.”

You smirk. “You cried the last time when we watched ‘When Harry met Sally’.”  

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Don't test my patience, sweetheart or you won't get the presents.” he warns.

You raise your eyebrows. You hope one of them comes in the form of his dick. Suddenly, you’re reminded of your lingerie set, so you make a mental note to wear it after the shower. “Can I see those presents now?” you ask, looking at Jimin with pleading eyes. It's exactly three seconds till he softens.  

“Fine.” he mutters and heads to the bedroom.

When he comes back, he’s not alone. Literally not alone, because he's caring the most hilarious Valentine’s present you could ever think of. A giant, white teddy bear, almost in the size of him, heart-shaped balloons attached to his right paw.

“This is,” Jimin whips his head to read the name on the bear's chest. “Ted.”  

You blink. “You bought me a teddy bear named Ted?”  

Jimin opens his mouth to say some witty comment but he stops when he hears you sob. “Baby, sweetheart, what's wrong?” He kneels in front of you, the bear long forgotten on the floor. You burst into tears and Jimin tries to calm you down, rubbing soothing circles on your thighs.

Once you eventually stop crying and regain your normal breathing, you wipe your tear-strained cheeks and look down at your very much worried boyfriend. “You are an idiot, Park Jimin. A fucking idiot. That teddy bear is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen and I should humiliate you for giving me that but...” You take a deep breath. “But I can’t. Because I fucking love you, dumbass.”

The corners of Jimin lips lift in amusement but you’re clearly not done with your little speech, so he waits until you finish. “You organized the most cliché date ever. You read all the Grey's books. You can’t cook for shit and this stupid apron you wore? God have mercy,” You visibly cringe. “You declaim Greek philosophers when you shower. Fuck, you persuaded me to do teacher-student roleplay and I kept calling you daddy during the whole thing because you asked me to. You are everything I despise but at the same time I love you so much,” you say, tears once again welling in your eyes. “I’m sorry I’m telling you this now, even though I've realised this a long time ago.”

Jimin’s silent, so unlike him, declaring his emotions with a huge grin this time. He stands up and picks your body into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both to your bedroom. He places you gingerly onto the mattress, hovering over your figure.

(Your fancy lingerie can wait for another occasion.)

“I love you too, ___.” he says, staring into your eyes. “You’re making me the happiest man in this world.”  

You roll your eyes, however there’s no use for that because your cheeks are already tainted red. “Oh, stop being such a sap.”  

He smirks. “You love when I’m like this.”  

“That is, in fact, not true.”  

You’re lying and he knows it, but he always lets you banter with him like this anyway.  

“Then what do you want me to be today?” he asks, his hands travel down to your zipper, then pull down your jeans. “Sweet? Loving?” He helps you take off your sweater and you’re left with nothing on beside your underwear. “Or do you want me to be rough? Push you around and fuck you stupid?” You gulp, your attitude successfully shut down. “Come on, use your words.”  

Somehow, you manage to gain your composure. “Want you to take off your clothes first.”  

Jimin chuckles, lowly and with a promise of more to come if you’re patient and behaving well, according to his commands. “You’re not the one to give orders here, baby.” he retorts. Then, he’s gripping your knees, pulling your legs apart and putting your pussy on full display for him.  

There’s already a dark, wet patch forming on your grey panties and he tsks disapprovingly. “You’re wet and I haven’t even touched you yet. You want it that much, huh?”  

You nod. “Please, touch me.”  

“Try again.”  

So he’s in that mood today. You’ve explored a fair share of kinks with Jimin so far and what you know for sure is that he always takes the leading role in bed. He likes to dominate, be the one in charge, railing you into the mattress until you’re crying out so loud your neighbours are banging on your walls.  

You slip into your role naturally, your usual confident behaviour gone and replaced with timidity. He relishes in seeing you like this, helpless and vulnerable, a stark contrast to how you act on daily basis.  

Jimin pins you with his dark stare and you give in. ‘”Yes, sir.”  

“Good girl.”  

He rewards you with a feather-like touch of his fingers on your pussy. He finds your clit with ease, rubbing it with practiced strokes until more juices drip down from your hole, wetting your panties embarrassingly fast. Your legs shake with want for more, to feel him sink his digits knuckle-deep into your cunt and finger you like he did that one time in a bathroom on your flight to Japan.  

He doesn’t seem the slightest bothered with your state, ignoring your pleading eyes and wanton moans. He hasn’t even taken off your underwear yet and you’re already on the verge of an orgasm.  

Jimin knows your body inside and out, probably better than you do, so it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that he can sense when you’re about to climax. He withdraws his hand from your center seconds before your release. You can’t help but huff with annoyance.

“Something's wrong, babygirl?” he asks, saccharine-sweet and annoyingly innocent.  

Your retort dies on your tongue the moment he decides to unbutton his white dress shirt. You’re too distracted with delicious lines of his sculpted chest to complain about your denied pleasure anymore. Your hands itch to touch him but you stay immobile, devouring him with your eyes instead.  

Jimin notices you're staring and smirks. “Like what you see?”  

You nod. “Yes, sir.”  

He then stands up from the bed and motions for you to come closer. You oblige without an ounce of confusion, crawling until you’re sitting on your heels in front of him. It’s a rather humiliating position but you can’t help but feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins when he cups your chin and tilts your head up.  

“Take off my pants.”  

You rush to obey, unbuckling his belt with shaky hands because you know what’s coming next once his pants are pulled down. He’s already hard, the prominent bulge of his cock straining in his briefs.  

“Now my underwear.”  

You nearly moan out loud when his cock slaps his abdomen, mouth salivating to take him in deep but you don’t dare touch him without a directed instruction. He makes sure your eyes are on him and starts stroking himself, spreading the precum all over his length, hissing when his thumb rubs the sensitive head of his cock.  

Jimin groans, low and throaty, and you whimper quietly in response. “What, baby? You want my cock that much?” he asks, his left palm cupping your cheek. You whisper a meek “Please” and he chuckles. “Come on then. Show me what that slutty mouth of yours can do. Open up.”  

Your lips part on command and you nearly moan when he guides his cock into your mouth. You’ve sucked Jimin's dick enough times to know what he likes, what brings him to the edge quicker than hitting the back of your throat. You lick the tip of his cock, eyes darting to check his reaction and, just as you expected, his features twist in pleasure.  

You relish in a minute or two of the control you have over him before he grows bored with your teasing and decides to fuck your mouth instead. But for now, you make sure to have him suffer a little for that stunt he pulled earlier when he didn’t make you come.  

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks for extra stimulation. Your hands reach to fondle his balls and you smirk around his cock when you hear a groan leave Jimin's mouth. “Good girl,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. You lean into his touch, moaning at the praise. “My pretty slut.”  

The first hit on the back of your throat makes you gag because fuck, is he big. The only thing bigger than Jimin's ego seems to be his dick, apparently. When he threads fis fingers through your hair you know what’s about to come; jaw relaxed, saliva dripping down from the corners of your mouth, you’re ready to be ruined.  

He withdraws, giving you exactly five seconds to breathe and then pushes forcefully inside. Your mind is filled with mental images of him giving your pussy the same treatment later. You would whimper at the thought, if your mouth wasn’t stuffed full of dick. Instead, you give your best, swallowing every inch of him obediently.  

“That’s it,” he rasps, clamping one hand on the back of your neck for better leverage. “You’re doing so good, baby.” When he nudges the back of your throat again, you feel him throb. He pulls away from the warmth of your mouth seconds later, panting heavily. He falls back onto the bed and pats his thighs. “Come here.”  

You scoot closer to him and crawl onto his lap. He smiles at you from below, pulling you in for a kiss. The hands he previously gripped your waist with now travel upwards, unhooking your bra. Your hips unconsciously move, pussy gliding along the flexed muscles of his thigh.  

Jimin notices your desperate attempt at getting some friction on your most sensitive parts and helps you rock your hips. He moves your panties to the side and you moan, felling the delicious pressure on your bare center. He’s watching with amusement as you’re falling apart on his thigh, thumb reaching to rub your clit. You cry out, climaxing so hard you’re almost seeing stars behind your closed eyelids.

He keeps helping you ride out your high until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation. “Did you like it?” he then asks, urging you to look at him. “You were so desperate to come, sweetheart. Fucking yourself on my thigh like a bitch in heat,” You whine instead of responding, earning a harsh smack on your ass. “Use your words.”  

Another slap lands on your cheek and you mewl. “Yes, I loved it, sir.”  

He chuckles, maneuvering your body so you’re now positioned over his cock. He gives your ass a firm squeeze and you whimper, arousal dripping down the inside of your thighs despite orgasming just minutes ago. “Ride me, baby.” he says.  

You hurry to obey, guiding his cock inside you. It's a tight fit but your wetness makes it smoother to push him deeper. “So big,” you mumble, bottoming out. You know damn well Jimin likes to be praised and if the smirk that stretches on his lips is anything to go by, he enjoys what you just said. “That feels so good, sir.” You start moving your hips languidly.  

“Yeah?” Jimin quips, hands gripping your waist so tightly it almost makes the skin bruise. “Then show me what a good girl you are for me. Fuck, look at you. You’re so hot.” His palms cup your breasts, thumbs stroking your nipples.  

You keen at the praise and quicken your pace. Your thighs start to burn but you ignore that, bouncing on your boyfriend’s dick like there’s no tomorrow. The room is filled with lewd noises, skin slapping on skin. Jimin looks down, staring at his cock coated in your juices as it disappears inside your hole. He curses at the sight.  

Your legs start to shake, huffs leaving your lips. “Sir–please,” you whine, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge.  

“What do you need, babygirl?” he asks, pinching your nipples. You squeal, your pace losing its previous rhythm.  

“I’m so close.” you stammer. “Please–touch me.”  

“Where you do you want me to touch you, baby?” He ignores your whimpers, the way your pussy keeps squeezing his cock in a vice grip. “Here?” He touches your tits again and you shake your head violently. “Or here–” His fingers find your clit and you cry out loudly. You feel so full, his cock hits your cervix every time you drop down onto him.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, mouth wide open and eyes squeezed shut. You probably look right now like a professional porn star but you couldn’t care less, not when you’re so close to the climax. “Sir–fuckfuckfuck, please!”

“There you go,” Jimin coos, circling your sensitive bud with his thumb. “Come for me, baby.”  

You’re gushing around his dick, arousal leaking out of your hole and coating his thighs with your release. Your upper body gives out and you collapse onto Jimin, your cunt pulsing from the intense pleasure you’ve just experienced.  

“Oh god,” you mumble. “I just saw the answer to the whole universe.”  

You feel Jimin's chest shaking with laughter and when you look up, you find him grinning at you. “That good?”  

“That good.” you confirm, sighing tiredly.  

“Are you okay?” You hear him asking. No matter how much he likes to push you around and fuck until you’re seeing stars, he always makes sure if you’re feeling comfortable to continue.  

You spare him a nod. “You know I can handle it,” you say, lifting yourself up. “I’m a tough girl, right?” Despite the oversensitivity, you start rocking your hips again. “M-made for you.”

Jimin smirks. “Yeah, made for me,” he confirms and slaps your ass. Your pussy flatters around his cock. “Not like this,” he mutters and turns you onto your back with one, swift motion. “Much better.”  

You pout. “You didn’t like it when I was riding your cock, sir?” You’re bluffing, but a girl can her fun too.  

He clicks his tongue, guiding his cock through your folds again. “Oh, baby, I was enjoying it very much,” he says, picking up his speed. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer. “But now I want it harder.”  

He fucks you just like he likes the most; fast and rough, unforgiving. He leans down for a messy kiss that’s all teeth tongue and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees his saliva dripping down your chin.  

(He decides right here and there that he might wanna explore his newfound fantasy soon.)

Soon you’re feeling the coil in your stomach tightening for the second time, embarrassingly quickly so. You moan, cunt squeezing around his dick. “Again?” Jimin asks, voice laced with both mirth and disbelief. Tears well in your eyes and you give him a nod. “Such a fucking slut.” he spits, slithering himself into you even faster than before.

Your third and final orgasm is so powerful and sudden, it nearly makes you black out. Jimin curses, fucking you through it. “Kiss me,” you whimper deliriously and he obliges, slipping his tongue inside your mouth. “I love you.” you whisper into his lips and that’s what sends him over the edge.

“I love you, I love you–fuck.” he groans and spills himself inside, coating your pussy with his seed.

He collapses next you, chest heaving with every exhale. Your legs feel like jelly and you know you’ll have trouble walking tomorrow. Just when you’re about to tell Jimin to call in sick and spend the whole day in bed instead, he suddenly sits up.

“Wait, I forgot I have another present for us.” he says, rushing to pick something up from underneath the bed.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jimin, I swear to God, if you bought us matching t-shirts–”

He grins like a child, showing you two white pillows, the most basic ones you could ever think of, with ‘his side’ and ‘her side' written on them. It's cringy and ridiculous and you fight an urge to punch him, but you don't.  

Because it's Jimin and you will never complain about it.

Because you love him. And that's all that matters.

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 7/?

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N Any Name (your best friend’s name), (Name) - your ex’s name !genderneutral (Don’t use a DC character! Y/N hasn’t dated any other DC character!) :)

3.5k words, my god. And they’ve still only known each other for 4 days and we’re on part 7. I do not know how to finish this.

Lol, Enjoy!

Warnings: Swearing, Heated moments, There is French in this one, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Falling asleep in Jason’s arms after that escapade the two of them pulled the night before was something magical to say the least. Of course, they only got like 5 hours of sleep before they had to wake up and get out, at risk of Y/N being caught in the building, although the thrill of it excited the both of them deeply, but that’s obvious. They liked breaking the rules already.

Riding back home seemed a lot less like a journey to her this time, she just wanted to spend more time with Jason, but he had work and she didn’t want to hang out at Wayne Enterprises. She’d probably go to the library today, she didn’t know exactly what she’d do today, but she always thought that was the most exciting thing ever. “I don’t know what I’m even going to do tomorrow,” one of her friends asked when she moved to Gotham, ‘How exciting!’ she answered.

That friend said the next day she ran through the streets of Metropolis with her arms outstretched like a kid, and she did it in Y/N’s honor. “I told you!” she said, “How exciting that sometimes you never know what you’re going to do tomorrow!”.

These thoughts swirled in her head as Jason drove her back home when, like clockwork, like it was out of a movie, he said,

“I have no idea what I’m even going to do today.”

She laughed, “I always say ‘How exciting!’ when someone says that to me.”

“Really?”

“One of my friends back home, when I gave her that advice, she then spent the next day running around the city with her arms outstretched in my honor, it was apparently one of the more fun things she’s ever done, so” she paused, “I really mean it. how exciting! The possibilities are endless, are they not?”

“Well, not really, I have work to do,” he frowned.

“So own it. Make the office your bitch. Take charge, take lead.”

“Why not?” he said in agreement.

“Why the fuck not.”

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

Jason walked her to her door, “Won’t you be late?” she asked,

“Dad knows where I am, I don’t think I’ll have my ass handed to me.”

“You never know,” she laughed.

He laughed too and slightly pecked her lips. He wanted more, he was hungry for more out of that kiss, but work and life gets in the way of their relationship, and he really whined when he had to break away, but she laughed at it.

“Slow your roll Tiger, one day,” she mused.

“You say that like you don’t want more.”

“This isn’t about me,” she retorted, “So, shut up, respectfully.”

He laughed and kissed the back of her hand, “You have a thing for doing that, huh?” she joked.

“I literally don’t know how to answer that, I think I’m losing my touch with flirting,” he joked back.

“Okay, okay, you need to get going now.”

“Fine! You want to get rid of me so badly, I get it,” he joked and walked back to the car and she waved him off. She hated that time he left, a lot. She knew it was healthy to take a day’s break if they’ve been on 3 back-to-back dates, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

She opened her door and walked in, thinking A/N was asleep so she wouldn’t be barraged for her hair being a mess, but, boy oh boy, was this girl waiting for her to get home.

“What happened? Why’s your hair a mess? Oh my god, did you have sex?” she asked.

“No, but we kissed, will you take that as information while I shower or do you want all the details now?”

“You can shower, you can shower. I’m not that needy.”

“Yes you are,” Y/N joked and went to go shower.

And like she always did, she opened her phone and looked at the news before answering her friends,

Millionaire’s Son, Jason Todd's Girlfriend’s Name Revealed!

She laughed, cause it wasn’t her name. She didn’t think he was seeing anyone else, and they used her picture, so she knew they just fucked it. She forwarded the article to Jason with the caption ‘ Fuckin’ idiots’ .

She then answered Artemis, who asked Did you two kiss? Dick’s up my ass about it ‘cause he knows we’re friends.

I want to take that out of context so badly. She joked with Artemis.

I knew this man had a terrible name that would come to haunt me, but did ‘ya kiss?

Yeah we did. Get Dick out of your ass, though, that’s weird, you have a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend.

Shut up, you’re not funny.

I’m pretty funny.

You are but I’m not going to admit that, girl.

And one of her old friends had texted her, it was someone who Y/N had seen off and on the past few years, they were polite, but she didn’t exactly want to speak to her ex.

Hey.

(Name)? What do you want?

Saw you in the news with the rich boy, guess we’re over?

We have been over for like 5 months, my guy. 

Bitch.

Okay!

People from her hometown were noticing her in the articles and recognizing her. Some would think this is the coolest thing that someone they loved met a nice boy, the money a bonus, some would give her the reaction her ex did, but she knew she was days, hours, maybe minutes away from her parents finding out about her love affair with Jason.  

She shuddered at the thought, she loved her parents, a lot, but something told her that maybe they wouldn’t did Jason to be like she found him. She also knew she could be overthinking it entirely and they’d like the Criminal Psych Major that she knew all-too-well.

But overthinking was fun, apparently. And she couldn’t stop thinking the worst of so much.

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

When she got changed and just threw on whatever the fuck she saw, she went out to go talk to A/N.

“Hey, nerd. I’m done,” Y/N said.

“Nerd? You’re the one dating the bookworm and  you’re in criminal psychology,” she joked.

“Ha, ha. So, how are things with your lover? Have you secured him yet or are you just doing your own thing still?”

“Still just doing our own thing, don’t really have the time to date while getting my degree and working.”

“I mean, if it works for you I can’t throw judgment.”

“What about Jason? How’re things with you two?”

“You ever seen the Wayne Enterprises Ballroom before?”

“In pictures, why- Don’t tell me he took you there you lucky bitch?!”

“Then I just wont tell you,” she laughed.

“The Ballroom? Oh my god, that’s crazy, he's really pulling out all the stops to make you smile, huh?”

“I would do the same if I had more to offer, but I have barely anything since I bought that place in the dance competition across the country,” she said.

Y/N had bought a place in this competition before she met Jason, and she was heading to it on Saturday, in two days, and she actually had practiced the routine during downtime between her and Jason. She hadn’t exactly told Jason about this, and Jason had asked why she looked strained and like her muscles hurt, but that just never seemed like something you share with your casual partner, to her. She never seemed like her casual competitions were worth anything. A/N had begged to differ since Y/N had met her.

A/N said that Y/N had talent, that she could go somewhere, Y/N saw it as an extra circular that didn’t affect her much. She wasn’t the type of brag, and all her trophies were back home with her parents, anyway.

“Have you told him about your,” insert A/N’s heavy sarcasm, “’Casual’  competitions, yet?”

Idk what the hell happened with that line ya love to see it

“I’ll send him a quick text about it, I guess,” she sighed and sent just a quick, Hey, can’t have a date on Saturday-Sunday, forgot to tell you but I’m going to Cali for a quick dance competition, lol. My bad, shoulda said something.

“Why are you like this, be proud of your accomplishments, dammnit!”

“It’s a casual competition!”

“And you’re talented! I’m this close to just showing him videos of you going at it,” she said, exasperated.

“He already knows, we danced in the Ballroom.”

“Oh my lord,” she laughed, “You’re an enigma, if I had your amount of trophies I wouldn’t be hiding it.”

“Im’ not hiding it! It just kind of never came up.”

And he texted back, Oh damn, are you at least going to kill it? You better, I want to show the live broadcast to my family and brag.

She laughed, “See!”, she exclaimed, showing A/N the texts, “He doesn’t care like you do, nerd.”

A/N laughed, “Sure he doesn’t. Do you want to go to lunch, by the way? I’m bored off of my ass.”

“Sure, why the fuck not.”

“Go get dressed then, and I’ll do the same.”

“Okay okay, meet up in 10?”

“Yes ma’am.”

And off they went.

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

Y/N texted back Jason for a quick minute before getting dressed, Of course I’m going to kill it, my notes aren’t a representation of my dancing skills.

Well, I hope you win something. And text me. But mainly win something.

Of course I’ll text you, Jay. It gets boring at competitions.

You should go to a Wayne Gala then, god damn, those fuckin bastards are the most boring events this side of America.

Well maybe you’ll invite me one day.

I’ll probably have to if you show up on National TV. The press will finally know your name.

I hope I’m not on National TV then. Fuck the press.

Fuck the press indeed.

Since Y/N didn’t feel the need or want to dress up, she didn’t. Quick shirt and jeans and she was out the door. Sometimes she would dress up for lunch dates with her friends, just because she was bored as fuck and dressing up was fun, but she just didn’t want to do it today. Combat boots, jeans and a shirt were enough most days. You don’t have to be a model just because the press knows your face, she thought, you don’t.

“Who’s driving?” A/N asked.

“I can if you want. I don’t mind,” Y/N said as they walked to the beat up car they loved so much. It was nothing compared to the Porsche she had been in the night before, but it was still running, and you don’t fix something that ain’t broke.

“Maybe your boyfriend will buy you a new car,” A/N joked.

“If anything, he’d buy me a new computer, since mine is getting mailed to me and you’re going to love hearing the sounds that bitch makes,” she retorted.

“Is it bad?”

“Terrible. My sister called it a screaming electronic goat once,” she laughed, “I hate that fucking thing. But if it ain’t broke-”

“Don’t fix it, I know.”

“Exactly.”

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

For some reason, they decided in the car to go to McDonald's, because hey, it’s not like Y/N is on a  dance diet or anything. She wasn’t, because she didn’t want to starve herself for the sake of winning a competition. That was even her thought process as she was younger and more vulnerable to her teachers, she always told them she’d never do that. Years later, she still stuck to that mindset.

They got out of the car and like fucking clockwork, the press was in her face.

“You! The girl with no name, Jason Todd’s girlfriend!”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” she whispered under her breath, “How do they always find me!”

“Tell us about yourself! Are you serious with Jason? How do you feel about his family? How-”

But then she had an idea,

“Quoi? Je parle pas l’Anglais? Qu’est-ce-que vous voulez?” she said, using her bilingual skills to her advantage.

“What? No I mean-”

“Pas de l’Anglais! Désolé mes amis!” and she ran off into the McDonald's with A/N.

“Did you just speak French to get them off your ass, you genius?”

“Spoke very broken French because I wasn’t thinking, but yeah, I did that.”

“I forget you’re multi-talented sometimes, you have a lot hidden under your belt and I try to treat you like a normal person but you’re far from it.”

“I appreciate you for trying, but I think with my new love affair, you aren’t going to get far with those attempts anymore, sorry,” she joked.

Jason texted her, Did you just speak French to avoid the press?

How do you know about that?

We were watching the news during a meeting and they said that you spoke French.

You got to do what you got to do to get by.

That is literally the most genius thing I’ve heard of anyone doing in so long. I think you’ve truly bamboozled them for a while and they might hop off of your back for a while.

You think so? ‘Cause I really hope that’s the case.

My siblings think it’s hilarious, and no one’s leaked that you are just joking with the press, so yeah, they might actually leave you alone.

Let’s fucking go. That is the news of the 21st century.

4 days of knowing each other and you’ve flipped off the press twice, outran them with me once, hid in the Wayne Enterprises Building with me and you’ve spoken French to bamboozle the press. That is impressive.

I feel like the press is going to hate me one day.

Probably. But they also hate most of us most days.

You should probably get back to work.

Yeah, talk to you soon.

She put her phone away and went to stand with A/N, who was waiting for their food.

“Talking to your lover?” she joked.

“When am I not doing that?”

“That’s valid.”

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

Going on a lunch date with A/N made a little bit of the harassment just better. They both bonded over how they hated the press before her love affair with Jason, and how their opinions wouldn’t change much unless, knock on wood, one of them went missing. Y/N told her about all the cases where the press and the internet did so much to solve cases around the world, love or hate the press, they did do a lot for solving crime.

She also told A/N that Jason was related to Dr. Barry Allen and Clark Kent, two people the two of them knew well because of the news and the fact that A/N knew Y/N when she wanted to go into forensics and was reading Dr. Barry Allen’s work.

When her mother texted her.

Y/N? Is that you in the press running around with Jason Todd?

Yeah mum, why?

Are you two in a serious relationship?

No mum.

Then why are the vultures so obsessed with you, says your dad.

‘ Cause you two made a pretty girl and he’s high up in the world, I guess, I don’t know. I don’t really like the press.

I can tell. We’re not mad at you honey, but be careful. And your dad says when you two get serious he needs to take Jason fishing.

He doesn’t speak French, mum.

Dad says he’ll work on his English for you.

Well tell everyone I love them, mum.

She panicked a little bit, her parents were nice when they wanted to be, but they were strict, why wouldn’t they be. So this, while being a welcomed surprise. was still a little panicky.

“Your  parents find out?”

“Yeah, they seem chill with it though.”

“Bing in the press sucks when you’re trying to keep your love life out of your parents' eyes, huh?”

“You could say that again,” she joked.

“Being in the press sucks when you’re-”

“I didn’t mean literally!” they laughed.

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

Back at Wayne Enterprises, Jason was betting bombarded by his colleges, friends and family about Y/N and how she was able to get around the press’ constant harassment without flaw. And also because Bruce had seen the two enter the building at around 12am the night before. So Jason was called into Bruce’s office that day.

“1, I know everyone is bombarding you, so you can hide out here, son, 2, you and Y/N didn’t have sex in your office right?”

“God no, dad. We just hid here because security is tight as fuck and unable to get past.”

“I saw you two kissing on the cams and heading into your office, Jay.”

“Okay, okay, but we didn't have sex and the intentions were there, dad!”

“Uh huh, pretty girl in your, my, car.”

“Dad, stop it,” he joked.

“Well, her little shenanigans with the press are very amusing, have you told her that?”

“I have.”

“She’s basically not afraid to tell them what we all think.”

“That’s what I said, dad.”

“Well, hold onto that one and don’t let her go.”

“Do you regret doing that with Talia?” Jason asked.

“God no, she’s insane. The son I got out of her antics is literally her spitting image, so if I need to be reminded of her I can just go talk to Damien for a couple minutes.”

“Dami’s a lot like you too, don’t act like his personality is just Talia, he acts like his dad in every aspect and you know that.”

“Lord help any woman or man that kid goes on to date, my god,” the two of them laughed. It was the small things with Bruce that made Jason happy to be a Wayne, even if he didn’t share the last name. Jason grew up on the streets and even before that, his mum and dad didn’t have a lot of money, so the amounts of money that Bruce could shower on him was a lot, but he was okay with just working for his money. And Bruce knew that.

He spent a lot of his workday in Bruce’s office, hiding from the rest of the office, and texting Will.

She knows about your kid.

Well, she’s a good kid. I’m glad you’re bragging about her, means I raised her right.

Shut up. I love that little girl and I’ve helped raise her, Will.

You’re used to my new name?

I changed your contact to Will when you changed your name, so I could remember that that’s your name now and not Roy. I’m hoping I remember it in person though. It would be awkward if I forgot my best friend’s name.

It would be funny to look back on, though.

Like how your relationship with Jade is funny now?

Never stick your dick in crazy.

I wish you would have listened to that sometimes, but then I remember Lian is amazing.

I’m a cliché of dumb choices, what can I say Jaybird.

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

In Y/N’s house, she would always play loud and sad music when she had the chance, some people thought her mental state was fucked, which sometimes it was, but most of the time the sad music went harder than the happy tunes you would catch from the other side of the house.

But even if music was blasting the loudest it could ever be, somehow she would still find herself lost in her thoughts, whether it was new dance routines or a story she would scribble down in her dream journal. there was something about those little fits of artistic passion she would experience from time-to-time.

It’s hard to put into words how those moments reminded her of the simplier times before sh was thrust into stardom, but also how they reminded her of Jason, and untouched mind she longed to know further. She knew there was so much more to the boy she had gone on dates with.

She would end up ignoring her phone for most of the rest of that day, just because she wanted peace and quiet, when A/N’s lover came over and she had to turn the music up louder so she wouldn’t be disrupted by the obvious.

I just got off of work, how are you? How’s your day been? Jason had texted Y/N while she ws turning up the music.

Well, I just had to turn up my music because my roommate’s lover is over, but other than that I’ve been enjoying peace and quiet in my room, waiting for something to do.

Is texting me something to do?

Yes.

That’s sweet of you. Work was boring though so I hope you don’t expect a story.

I don’t, don’t worry. You don’t always need a story for something to do.

Well, I’m going home with my brothers and dad, and we’re probably going to play office chair racing because I’m a bad boy.

You’re a bad boy?

Was that not funny?

It was pretty funny, isn’t that dangerous though?

Yeah actually, my brother broke his leg playing it and another time my little sister broke her leg playing it.

It seems fun but like, damn, two people have gotten injured playing that game, y’know.

Well if I die it’ll be a fun story!

[lsholland]

London Lights (pt. 3) - Tom Holland

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (1st person)

Genre: Party!Tom

Warnings: swearing; alcohol; a lot of smut (don’t recommend -18 to read)

Word count: 1.8k

Read part 1 / part 2

Author’s note: Hey guys! Part 3 is out. This is the final part of this short fiction. Loads of smut. Hope you like it!

Synopsis: Quarantine has been tough. I’ve lost my boyfriend, and I’m feeling lonely. Clubs and restaurants are open again, but I feel like it’ll never be like it used to. My friends have been pushing me to install Tinder and go on dates. Well, tonight, I’m going on a date. I don’t really want to but I’m going to try and have fun for once. Just a few drinks and I’ll go home. What else could happen?

PS. You can read the story on Wattpad.

Tom stops kissing me. He grabs the back of my neck and watches me. He exhales. His musky perfume and his warm, beer-scented breath mingle. I’m longing for another kiss, but he doesn’t let me kiss him.

“You’re beautiful” he grins. His messy curly hair spotlights his perfect jawline. I’m hypnotised.

I don’t even know what to answer, he’s driving me crazy. I just want more. I can’t think of anything else.

I want more.

I grab his face and pull it to give him a sensual kiss. He doesn’t even try to resist. He falls into my arms and moans. His fingers wander on my back. It’s giving me chills.

He finds the zip of my dress and slowly releases my naked back. He doesn’t immediately take it off. While he’s still pushing me against the wall, he gently takes the fabric off my shoulders and gives me soft kisses. His steamy breath is electrifying me to the point I can feel butterflies in my stomach.

I’ve had sex with many people before, but the way he carries my body, the way he contemplates my skin and looks at me is divine. He makes me feel like a Goddess.

I’m so sensitive the chills become unbearable. My hands are shaking under his shirt, and I’m persuaded he’s feeling the same. His heart is beating so fast. I caress his tensed abs. It’s giving him chills.

He tries kissing me, but my hair is falling on my face. He takes a strand and tucks it behind my ear. He smiles. “I wanna see your face all the time”

Tom glimpses at my bed in the corner of the room. He peers at me and nods towards it. He’s waiting for my confirmation to take it further.

I nod in return. And instead of walking hand in hand towards my bed as I imagined, he grabs my left thigh and my back, and he lifts me. Tom carrying me is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He looks up to me and can’t hide his thrill anymore. He chuckles.

He’s all mine. It’s driving me insane. I can’t stop thinking of how lucky I am while I grab his face and cover him with kisses.

Just a few steps in his arms and we both fall on the bed. He’s now on top of me. My legs are spread apart, and he takes advantage of it. He lifts my dress and kisses my stomach.

He laughs.

Oh my God, what did I do wrong?

“What?” I anxiously whisper.

“When I saw you all wet, I knew you’d taste like Guinness,” he says as he lifts his face and glances at me “you’re even more delicious than I thought.”

He starts licking my stomach and slowly goes down.

So, he thought about this when we were still at the bar? He knew what he wanted from the beginning. I’m feeling dizzy, I think of all the signs I probably missed and what led us to this. But I’m happy.

He grabs both sides of my thong and starts pulling it down. I watch him use me as he pleases. He looks so concentrated on what he’s about to do, what he’s seeing, and what he’s already imagining. He’s so horny his hands are shaking when they’re touching my bare skin.

He grips the fabric and let it fall off my legs and throws it away. He stares at my pussy with a playful smile, both hands on my knees.

He takes off his shirt and throws it away in a hurry.

He is so good looking.

His features are mesmerising. I can’t realise I’ve been touching his sculpted body the whole time.

He leans back down and faces my pussy. He curls one of his hands on my thigh and grabs my stomach with the other one. And before doing what I’ve been longing for, he simply asks me “Are you sure you wanna do it?”

My stomach drops. I look at him in confusion. I’m not used to being asked this question, even with strangers. They usually just assume alcohol doesn’t matter.

He respects me.

This simple question makes me even hornier. I gulp and close my eyes. His stare . . . It’s hypnotising. He’s beyond all I imagined. I feel butterflies in my stomach; a shiver runs through my body and makes me feel uninhibited. I want him to get to know the real me. I don’t know about tomorrow, but tonight I’ve fallen for him. And I want him so bad.

He’s waiting for my response. My thoughts are confused. But the only thing I know is I want this to happen.

I want him so bad.

I grab his head and pull it down. That’s my answer to him.

When his lips touch my bare bottom lips, electricity is rushing through my body. His warm, wet tongue is soft, and he surprisingly knows exactly where to lick, as if he’d known my body for a lifetime.

As he gently tastes my pussy the desire inside of him is burning, he becomes more and more firm. He’s almost hornier than I am. He gives soft kisses and licks it with so much passion the bed sheets become wet.

My hands are grasping at the blanket in desperation. I can’t control myself anymore.

I moan. Loudly.

Each moan makes his hands grip my skin tighter. It almost hurts. But it feels so good. Excitement is reaching its peak and I just can’t get enough of his soft lips and tongue on my skin.

I want more.

I squeeze my eyes shut because it’s so intense . . . Each time his tongue touches my clitoris my waist startles and he knows it. His moves are making me wet as a melting ice cube. He’s playing with my senses, and he loves it.

I release one of my hands and caress his hair. I clear his face from his curls, I want to see him.

Eye-contact.

He’s been watching me the entire time.

His eyes are dark. There’s a connection between us. His glare says a lot. I feel like I know what he’s thinking about. He raises his messy eyebrow and breaks the eye-contact as he closes his eyes, focusing on giving me a memorable night.

And a memorable night for him too.

It’s exquisite.

I grip his hair and keep watching him. I don’t ever want to forget tonight.

“I can’t wait anymore – I’m sorry” he groans as he backs off and takes off his underwear in a simple sweep.

I catch a glimpse of his dick, and gulp. By the size of it, I know for sure I’m going to feel it in me. I’m shaking. He grabs it with his right hand and smiles at me, biting his lower lip.

Tom crawls over me and grabs my neck. He’s putting enough pressure for me to feel strangled.

“I’m gonna do you real good” he whispers, his face so close to mine. We’ve been waiting too long for it.

He holds his dick and plays with my pussy while he’s looking at me. He finds it amusing to peer at my facial expressions. He loves having this much power.

He loves it way too much.

He bites his bottom lip, focusing on his action, and finally enters in me. He slowly starts to go back and forth, panting. He closes his eyes, and now he’s the one feeling a little too much of pleasure.

Woah.

He squeezes his eyes and frowns his eyebrows. He’s enjoying every second of it. He doesn’t let go of his hand on my neck. He keeps his eyes shut and moans. His tongue dives into my mouth.

The French kiss I’ve been waiting for.

I grip my hands on his back and cross my legs behind him, trying to pull him deeper into me. I’m so excited I can’t wait for it anymore. We both groan with pleasure. His arms are trembling with excitement and nervousness.

When he opens his eyes, he catches me intensely watching him. He frowns as if he were trying to control something in him.

But I want to play with him as he did when he went down on me.

“Harder Tom . . .” I moan.

He startles. This is the signal that makes him lose his mind. He starts gripping my neck harder and moves back and forth with a lot of strength, keeping the pace slow. He grabs my tit with his other hand and starts groaning louder.

He’s making me feel something new. Each one of his hip movements brings me closer to him.

“I can’t believe we’re fucking” I whisper in his ear. I feel his hair raising with goosebumps.

“I can’t believe they tried to stop me from chasing you . . .” is what he replies.

What?

So, is this why he spent so much time on his phone? His friends were trying to stop him from doing it. That’s why he was so hesitant. That’s why he kept on giving mixed signals.

“. . . because I’ve wanted you as soon as I saw through that wet dress.”

Oh, my God.

I did not even realise my dress became transparent.

He’s accelerating his movements, holding my body close to his. He’s sweating and panting and smiling and kissing me so firmly. We’re becoming one, our bodies move in motion, close to climax.

Tom’s moans become louder and even though he’s gritting his teeth he can’t hide that he’s unable to handle so much pleasure. He lifts his face, his eyes still closed, and raises his eyebrows. He suddenly opens his mouth, hands trembling, and gasps with pleasure.

His body rubbing against mine, his soft smell and his moans bring me to climax at the same time.

Tom places his hand on my mouth to cover my scream. I feel his cum inside of me, my legs are locked around him I can’t move anymore. I’m overwhelmed with pleasure, and I can’t control my body anymore.

This feels like a sugar rush.

Tom falls next to me, exhausted. He looks at me with loving eyes. “You are perfect” he says as he grabs me in his arms and kisses my neck. He’s slowly falling asleep, and I just can’t realise I’ve just had sex in my apartment with Tom Holland.

I can hear birds singing. I glance at the window, it’s sunrise. The morning lights are illuminating Tom’s face. He looks like a fallen angel.

"When you wake up, we'll be strangers again, aren't we?" I softly whisper as I fall asleep.

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

I'm currently working on a longer Tom fiction with a much darker vibe. Like this post if you want to be notified when I publish it :)

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masterlist: @hollandvibesss @nrvousxo @oswald98 @aaralynrae @originalpizzastudentartisan

[ivyglow]

Seems like everybody is on a nolan train and im not mad about it. I get the vibe that nolan is pretty picky when selecting a romantic partner to pursue or make his gf. How'd u think he'd be like when he meets someone that checks off all his boxes and MORE? Gimme some nolan thinking ur too good to be true after the 1st date and then being head over heels in love after the first 2 weeks. And all his friends & family r shocked cause its not like nolpats to be so enamored by someone that quickly

hop in, nonny, you’ll love it in here! 

k so maybe you two met through mutual friends and his friends are like “you’re gonna love her, I swear” and he’s just rolling his eyes and sighing because they tried setting him up before and it didn’t work, but still he went on -it was a small get-together, just close friends, teammates and their significant other and he needed to breath fresh air

when he gets there the speakers are softly playing a song he was sure wasn’t chosen by any of the boys, “what's wrong with you guys listening to bob seger? were you hit by the fairy of good music taste or something?” he joked in a mumble and tk instantly rose his eyebrows

“that’s actually y/n’s playlist,” his best friend answers and nolan turns his attention to the new face in the living room, there's a cup on your hands and a small smile displaying on the corner of your tinted lips. your eyes are confident and the color goes perfectly along with your complexion. he swears he never saw someone so beautiful in that unique way. you didn’t have a familiar face and maybe that's what somehow made him more curious about you. when he went to shake your hand the song came to an end and Hozier started playing, “you have a good taste in music,” he mumbles, “I’m nolan, by the way.” you smile, a full parted lips smile and his heart does a double flip, “I actually listen to everything, and I mean everything because I listen from German music to Latinas,” your voice has this happy gigglish tone and he can’t help but smile too. “Do you speak German?” “Yes, and French, Portuguese, Spanish, currently I’m learning Chinese,” he’s taken by surprise, and one of your friends explain to him you're in Philly for your Ph.D. in languages. nolan talks to you for the rest of the night, and that is he talks almost only with you, every time tk looked for him he was handing around you, awestruck small smile, eyes attentive, listening to everything you had to say. that night you talked about everything, he enjoyed listening to you talking, your voice soothing him in a way he never ever felt, and you ever so curious manners always asking something back but never being intrusive. 

“I’m sorry I talk too much, I’m just this excited about some subjects,” you explain and a giggle follows your words, he shakes his head, “no, it’s perfect that you’re talkative because sometimes I’m way too quiet...I think that gives us balance,” he explains and watches as your smile get bigger and bigger. “Ok but now tell me about you, whatever you want, but not hockey related because I know you exist beyond that, I actually hate when people try to talk to me only about my profession as if it is was the only thing I want to talk about, I love what I do but like c’mon ask me about et’s, and zodiac signs, food, random music, memes, there’s a bunch of cool stuff you know?” and he’s just nodding and watching you because fuck he feels like he could kiss you right now. you were fun, intelligent, quite the opposite of him in some areas he came to discover, but that was just perfect, and you kept getting prettier with each word

he wanted to kiss you

but you did it first

and that night when he drove you home you were already carrying a bit of his heart

one week and two dates later you kept getting more interesting and he kept talking about you with tk “did you know she’s learning to play the guitar?” “she’s a genius isn’t she?” “and she was with this new lipstick today, tasted like cherries.” “she loves horror movies.” “she’s into ham and cheese sandwich in the morning” etc

two weeks in and you were already exclusive, he couldn’t help but talk about you with his sister as well, and just by listening to him talk about you for an hour straight she knew he had it bad

and nolan realized it the first time you went to one of his game, you were wearing his number and wearing an orange converse because you liked to match stuff just like that, and when he scored he searched for your eyes on the stands and you were screaming and jumping and clapping just like all the flyers fans still he could spot you like you as if you were wearing a completely different color

he wanted to look to the stands and always see you, and wake up beside you during the days you stayed at his place, he wanted to share a cereal bowl with you, and find horror movies funny just like you did, he wanted to listen to your favorite playlist and show you his, and he wanted late-night drives and early morning kisses with you

all that because he had it bad

nolan was in love and he didn’t wait longer to tell you that

Woah- I think I got a bit carried away lol

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Read on AO3

Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without. 

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him. 

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison. 

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved. 

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?” 

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor. 

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand. 

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father. 

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

[default-cube]

So I've never actually seen /u/ryans01 excellent post re-posted here on tumblr, and I think it could help a lot of people, so I'll repost it below. Link to the original

Ouch. Sounds like you're having a tough time max. That sucks. I've been there, so I kinda know what you're talking about. I've been in the ever circling vortex of self doubt, frustration, and loathing. It's no bueno. I know. If you don't mind lemme tell you a couple things. You can read em if you want, read em again later if you feel like it. But honestly man, if I spend all this time typing this out to you and you don't let it be a little tinder for your fire, well, you're just letting us both down. And you don't HAVE to do that. You don't HAVE to do anything. But you get to choose.

(Who am I? My name’s Ryan and I live in Canada. Just moved to a new city for a dream job that I got because of the rules below. I owe a lot of my success to people much cooler, kinder, more loving and greater than me. When I get the chance to maybe let a little bit of help out, it’s a way of thanking them. )

Rule numero uno - There are no more zero days. What's a zero day? A zero day is when you don't do a single fucking thing towards whatever dream or goal or want or whatever that you got going on. No more zeros. I'm not saying you gotta bust an essay out everyday, that's not the point. The point I'm trying to make is that you have to make yourself, promise yourself, that the new SYSTEM you live in is a NON-ZERO system. Didnt' do anything all fucking day and it's 11:58 PM? Write one sentence. One pushup. Read one page of that chapter. One. Because one is non zero. You feel me? When you're in the super vortex of being bummed your pattern of behaviour is keeping the vortex goin, that's what you're used to. Turning into productivity ultimate master of the universe doesn't happen from the vortex. It happens from a massive string of CONSISTENT NON ZEROS. That's rule number one. Do not forget.

La deuxieme regle - yeah i learnt french. its a canadian thing. please excuse the lack of accent graves, but lemme get into rule number 2. BE GRATEFUL TO THE 3 YOU'S. Uh what? 3 me's? That sounds like mumbo jumbo bullshit. News flash, there are three you's homeslice. There's the past you, the present you, and the future you. If you wanna love someone and have someone love you back, you gotta learn to love yourself, and the 3 you's are the key. Be GRATEFUL to the past you for the positive things you've done. And do favours for the future you like you would for your best bro. Feeling like shit today? Stop a second, think of a good decision you made yesterday. Salad and tuna instead of Big Mac? THANK YOU YOUNGER ME. Was yesterday a nonzero day because you wrote 200 words (hey, that's all you could muster)? THANK YOU YOUNGER ME. Saved up some coin over time to buy that sweet thing you wanted? THANK YOU. Second part of the 3 me's is you gotta do your future self a favour, just like you would for your best fucking friend (no best friend? you do now. You got 2. It's future and past you). Tired as hell and can't get off reddit/videogames/interwebs? fuck you present self, this one's for future me, i'm gonna rock out p90x Ab Ripper X for 17 minutes. I'm doing this one for future me. Alarm clock goes off and bed is too comfy? fuck you present self, this one's for my best friend, the future me. I'm up and going for a 5 km run (or 25 meter run, it's gotta be non zero). MAKE SURE YOU THANK YOUR OLD SELF for rocking out at the end of every.single.thing. that makes your life better. The cycle of doing something for someone else (future you) and thanking someone for the good in your life (past you) is key to building gratitude and productivity. Do not doubt me. Over time you should spread the gratitude to others who help you on your path.

Rule number 3- don't worry i'm gonna too long didnt' read this bad boy at the bottom (get a pencil and piece of paper to write it down. seriously. you physically need to scratch marks on paper) FORGIVE YOURSELF. I mean it. Maybe you got all the know-how, money, ability, strength and talent to do whatever is you wanna do. But lets say you still didn't do it. Now you're giving yourself shit for not doing what you need to, to be who you want to. Heads up champion, being dissapointed in yourself causes you to be less productive. Tried your best to have a nonzero day yesterday and it failed? so what. I forgive you previous self. I forgive you. But today? Today is a nonzero masterpiece to the best of my ability for future self. This one's for you future homes. Forgiveness man, use it. I forgive you. Say it out loud.

Last rule. Rule number 4, is the easiest and its three words. exercise and books. that's it. Pretty standard advice but when you exercise daily you actually get smarter. when you exercise you get high from endorphins (thanks body). when you exercise you clear your mind. when you exercise you are doing your future self a huge favour. Exercise is a leg on a three legged stool. Feel me? As for books, almost every fucking thing we've all ever thought of, or felt, or gone through, or wanted, or wanted to know how to do, or whatever, has been figured out by someone else. Get some books max. Post to reddit about not caring about yourself? Good first step! (nonzero day, thanks younger me for typing it out) You know what else you could do? Read 7 habits of highly successful people. Read "emotional intelligence". Read "From good to great". Read “thinking fast and slow”. Read books that will help you understand. Read the bodyweight fitness reddit and incorporate it into your workouts. (how's them pullups coming?) Reading is the fucking warp whistle from Super Mario 3. It gets you to the next level that much faster.

That’s about it man. There’s so much more when it comes to how to turn nonzero days into hugely nonzero days, but that’s not your mission right now. Your mission is nonzero and forgiveness and favours. You got 36 essays due in 24 minutes and its impossible to pull off? Your past self let you down big time, but hey… I forgive you. Do as much as you can in those 24 minutes and then move on.

I hope I helped a little bit max. I could write about this forever, but I promised myself I would go do a 15 minute run while listening to A. Skillz Beats Working Vol. 3. Gotta jet. One last piece of advice though. Regardless of whether or not reading this for the first time helps make your day better, if you wake up tomorrow, and you can’t remember the 4 rules I just laid out, please, please. Read this again.

Have an awesome fucking day ☺

tldr; 1. Nonzero days as much as you can. 2. The three you’s, gratitude and favours. 3. Forgiveness 4. Exercise and books (which is a sneaky way of saying self improvement, both physical, emotional and mental)

Edit: Wow reddit gold? Thanks! No idea what to do with it or whats the deal but many thanks!

Edit2: Someone asked what I meant by "much more when it comes to how to turn nonzero days into hugely nonzero days". The long and short of it is a simple truth, but it's tough to TOTALLY UNDERSTAND AND PRACTICE. It's this: you become what you think. This doesnt mean if I think of a tree, I'll be oakin' it by august. It means that the WAY you think, the THINGS you think of, and the IDEAS YOU HOLD IN YOUR MIND defines the sum total that is you. You procrastinate all the time and got fear and worry goin on for something? You are becoming a procrastinator. You keep thinking about how much you want to run that 5 k race in the spring and finish a champion? Are ya keeping it in mind all the time? Is it something that is defining your ACTIONS and influencing you DECISIONS? If it is, then you're becoming the champion you're dreaming about. Dreaming about it makes it. Think and it shall be. But do not forget that action is thought's son. Thoughts without actions are nothing. Have faith in whatever it is you've steeled your mind to. Have faith and follow through with action.

Ok, Ryan that's a bunch of nice words n shit, but how does that help me turn slightly nonzero days into hugely nonzero days. Do you believe all these words you just read? Does it makes sense to you that you BECOME WHAT YOU THINK OF? Ask yourself: What do I think of? When you get home and walk in the door. (how quickly did you turn that laptop on? Did turning it on make you closer to your dreams? What would?) At the bus stop. Lunch break. What direction are you focusing your intentions on? If you're like I was a few years ago, the answer was either No direction, or whatever caught my eye at the moment. But no stress, forgive yourself. You know the truth now. And knowing the truth means you can watch your habits, read books on how you think and act, and finally start changing your behaviour. Heres an example: Feeling like bunk cause you had zero days or barely nonzero days? THINK ABOUT WHAT YOURE DOING. and change just a little bit more. in whatever positive direction you are choosing to go.

Edit3: WHOA! This blew up! Major appreciation to Modified_Duck for making this cool ass image: http://i.imgur.com/7xsp7hJ.png

Edit4: Another AMAZING DESKTOP BACKGROUND! http://www.reddit.com/r/GetMotivated/comments/1rowpb/i_made_a_wallpaper_from_uryans01s_amazing_quote/

[blossom-hwa]

Fall [Rise] - MARK |Swing!|

No more spoilers for MCU movies, I believe :) Enjoy your spoiler-free but angst-filled chapter! Once again, thank you @deathbykpopboys​ for inspiring this series :)

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing, violence, PANIC ATTACKS IN THIS CHAPTER (I in no way meant to romanticize these triggers. If you feel I did, please let me know and I will fix it.)

Word Count: 7.5k

Somewhere, somehow, amidst the chaos of existence, you and Mark remember that you’re not alone.

Arc { 1 - Drifting Apart | 2 - Coming Home } >> Fall { 1 - Spiral | 2 - Rise } >> Release 

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

Mark knows you aren’t okay. He can see it in the bags under your eyes (which are somehow worse than his), the tired, slightly haunted way you look at everything, and how you’re speaking less. And when you do talk, it’s a lot quieter than before.

He just doesn’t know how to broach the topic. Every time he asks if you’re all right, you just smile and say you’re fine.

So you keep going on patrols with him, even though he knows you shouldn’t. Mark feels guilty, knowing that his increased patrol time is probably part of why you look so terrible, but he can’t stop. And if he doesn’t stop, you won’t either.

Because who’s going to help the little guy if he isn’t there? If you aren’t there?

He still reads the articles. He’s just gotten better at hiding it. He knows what people say about you two – the Daily Bugle, the New York Times, sometimes even the Wall Street Journal. And the articles just keep coming as the two of you stay out longer and longer to fight crime. No matter how many criminals you help put behind bars, people just want you to keep doing more and more and more.

Mark is exhausted the night he gets shot. A physics test earlier in the day took a lot out of him mentally, while he spent a good part of the afternoon hauling supplies from Professor Tuan’s truck to the lab. By the time he climbs onto the roof to meet you, his brain feels a little mushy.

You don’t look much better. Your voice is slightly hoarse – not in a sick way, but in a way that tells him you’ve been crying – but you deny everything he throws at you and just start swinging away.

(He’s a hypocrite. He keeps telling you to knock off patrolling if you’re feeling bad, but he won’t take nights off for himself. He wants to take care of you, but he won’t take care of himself.)

The gunmen you two fight tonight are trained, much better shots than most of the amateur muggers and criminals you’ve fought before. It takes a long time to subdue all of them.

Well, you and Mark think it’s all of them. In the space of his muddled brain, Mark thinks there were only five when you started.

Apparently, there were six.

In the darkness of night, Mark sees the outline of the bullet hurtling toward your exposed back. Your danger sense kicks in, he can tell by your widened eyes and your beginning attempt to dodge, but he’s already there before he knows it, shoving you away and taking the bullet into his shoulder.

Fuck. He didn’t mean for that to happen. He meant to push you away and get himself away, too, but he was too unprepared. Too tired. 

Too slow.

Mark doesn’t remember much of what happens immediately after. There’s pain, a lot of it. He remembers you calling someone – probably Mr. Stark, now that he thinks of it – and cleaning the wound as best as you can. There’s something gold and red that carries him off, which, in hindsight, was also probably Mr. Stark in his Iron Man suit.

It’s the last Sunday before winter break ends. Mark wakes up groggy and confused in a bed at Stark Tower with Mr. Stark bending over him and cleaning the wound on his shoulder. Then he passes out again.

Later, Mr. Stark will tell Mark that he’s lucky that a) the bullet flew right through his shoulder, b) the wound isn’t as serious as others he’s seen, and c) you used to read a lot of crime novels and therefore know more or less how to clean a bullet wound.

Mark feels lucky for the third part. He’s always been lucky to have you there.

The first and second parts? Not so much. This thing hurts.

He spends most of the day in Stark Tower, with Mr. Stark fussing around bandages and giving Mark really strong painkillers that knock him out. You appear at some point but disappear sometime before he falls unconscious again, which isn’t nice. He wants you here. He wants to hold your hand.

When he wakes up again, he gets his wish. It’s four in the afternoon and the pain in his shoulder has dwindled significantly. You’re passed out on a chair next to his bed, his hand limply held in yours.

Bright afternoon light streams in from the window, illuminating your sleeping face. Mark sits up in bed, pleasantly surprised that his shoulder barely hurts even when he moves it. Perks of speedy healing. For a moment, he just drinks in the sight of your face, for once calm.

He took a bullet for you, he thinks. Still, though, he didn’t mean to take the bullet at all.

Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew he was going to get shot? Would he have pushed you away, even if he knew the bullet was going to hit someplace more lethal?

Mark’s heart thumps as his fingers curl around yours protectively.

Yes, he thinks. He still would have. He wouldn’t have changed a thing he did.

You begin to stir, probably from the added pressure of his hand in yours. As your eyes flutter open, still glazed over with sleep, Mark realizes.

He likes you. Much more than he ever liked Lia. He’s liked you for a long time, he just never realized it.

Maybe he even loves you.

It explains why he didn’t like thinking about you and Lia together. It wasn’t because you were his best friend and she was his crush. It was because while he liked Lia, he loved you much more. But because he’d felt that way towards you for so long, he just thought it was because you were his best friend.

He never loved Lia, though. Not the way he thinks he loves you.

When you realize where you are, you immediately sit up straight on the chair and fix him with a glare. “Don’t ever do that again!” you snap, and for a second, Mark gets a glimpse of your old, fiery self.

And then because he’s still as awkward and stupid as before, all he says is, “What?”

“Don’t fucking get shot!” you yell. “Don’t jump in front of bullets for me! Just –” you sigh, pulling at your hair with trembling hands – “Don’t scare me like that ever again!”

Mark just smiles as you continue yelling, berating him for being stupid and getting injured and freaking you out and all. After so many weeks of watching you fade into silence, it’s refreshing to see you so worked up and snappy again.

Call him a masochist. But he loves it.

Just as he loves you.

. . . . .

Mark took a bullet for you, and you honestly don’t know what to do with yourself. You have never, not once in your life, wanted your best friend to get injured and nearly die for you.

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. According to Mr. Stark, Mark probably wasn’t going to die from the wound in his shoulder. But what if the bullet had hit somewhere else? What if Mei and Johnny had found out? Well, they didn’t because you and Mark usually leave the house before they even wake up on Sunday Stark days, but still.

Thoughts like these are the reason why the second you get home, you walk into your room and start hyperventilating.

You’re tired of the panic attacks. You hate them. They’re terrifying, they hurt, and they exhaust you to the point that you can barely get out of bed after one of them. You would definitely try avoiding things that caused them if you even knew what was causing them.

Some triggers are easy to pinpoint. Loud noises. Small, confined spaces. Avoiding them is the problem. You can maybe stay away from claustrophobic areas, but loud noises could be anywhere. A locker slammed too loudly. A textbook dropped on the floor. Explosions in the lab.

But then there are the times when you’re not doing anything at all and your chest closes up. Maybe you’re lying on your bed. Maybe you’re studying at your desk. The shortness of breath comes up quickly and without warning, and then you’re hugging your knees to your chest on the floor.

Mark has had three obvious brushes with death – the confrontation at the university, the abandoned industrial park, and now the bullet. He seems to be doing fine.

Meanwhile, you startle at loud noises and feel like death half the time.

Deep inside of the depths of your mind, you want someone for comfort. Johnny or Mark, preferably, or Mei or Mr. Stark, even. But Mark’s got the same workload as you on his plate. Mei’s always working at the hospital. Mr. Stark’s too important to deal with your shit. Johnny works day and night just to take care of you. He dropped out of university for you. Also, you’re still not talking.

All of them are so strong and confident and brave all the time – how can you even think of burdening them with your stupid baggage?

Thoughts swirl around your mind as you take off your suit. All you really want to do at the moment is curl up under your blanket and close your eyes for several years.

That’s a coma, your brain helpfully supplies.

Yeah. That’s the point.

But you have a calculus test, a French quiz, and an English paper to turn in tomorrow. Professor Wang thinks he’s on the verge of a breakthrough with one of his experiments, so he wants you in the lab as well. You need to edit your research paper for a competition to submit by Friday, there’s an AcaDec regional competition on Sunday, and you have to patrol.

You don’t notice the tears have started slipping down your face until one of them drops onto the calculus textbook in front of you. With a firm sigh and a deep breath, you force the remaining tears away, settling your eyes on the page.

There’s no time for crying. You have to study.

That’s how Johnny finds you later, hunched over at three a.m., nearly falling asleep over of your old laptop. He literally picks you up and carries you two feet to your bed before tucking you in and kissing your forehead like Mom used to when you were five.

You start crying, mumbling incoherent apologies and swearing you never thought of Stark as a replacement for him or Dad or Mom, that nothing can ever replace the three of them. Between tears, you beg for his forgiveness, promising you’ll tell the truth sometime soon, you swear.

Johnny shakes slightly as he holds you close, his own tears dripping onto your shoulder as he gives his own apologies for being pig-headed and rude, for feeling insecure and upset that you can’t trust him. He promises to wait, to just trust in you until you can tell him everything.

Everyone’s always taking care of you, you think when Johnny leaves. Everyone’s always helping you, giving you support, giving up things to care for you.

What have you ever done for them besides cause more problems?

With that happy thought, your brain shuts down and you fall asleep.

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t know how you do it. He doesn’t know how you take everything the world throws at you and still come out at the top with perfect grades.

Of course, he knows that grades aren’t the most important thing in life. But in this moment, as he stares at the bright red F circled at the top of his Spanish worksheet, it feels like they are.

There’s no scribbled “see me!” below the large letter grade he doesn’t want to look at, which Mark is thankful for. This is the first time he’s gotten such a low grade in this class. It’s just that he didn’t pay much attention to the lesson, too tired from patrolling late into the night (or was it the morning?).

Priorities are the problem. Mark has a lot of things going on in his life and he’s always been bad at prioritizing because he always wants to do everything perfectly and right. AcaDec? He always tries hard to be the top physics guy. School? He’s competing with you for valedictorian. Lab? He’s leading multiple projects, several of which have won prizes at research competitions. Patrolling? What more can he do with that other than swing around Queens even later into the night?

Mark doesn’t know what to prioritize first.

But clearly, school has unconsciously taken a backseat to everything else. Now that he thinks about it, he’s been taking less time to study for certain classes, like Spanish and English. He could justify it with the fact that he plans to be a STEM major and those subjects won’t be of as much use to him as calculus and physics and biology, but he feels like nothing can justify the red F staring up at him.

It’s just a worksheet. Mark knows it isn’t worth a large part of his grade – barely anything, in fact. But it’s a wakeup call.

I have to do better.

How, though? Everything academia-related takes up most of his normal waking hours. Patrolling takes up his ungodly waking hours.

The obvious answer is to cut back on patrol time. But how can he do that? How can he possibly value his grades over someone’s life?

Mark sighs, putting the worksheet into his Spanish folder. He’ll just have to add some more ungodly waking hours to his study schedule.

“You good?” you ask later that day. The two of you are on the train back home after AcaDec practice, and he guesses the dejection from earlier is still showing on his face. You lean carefully against side, careful not to disturb his wound, and squeeze his hand.

Fuck. It’s in moments like this where it hits Mark just how far he’s fallen for you. Your confidence, your kindness, your bravery, your unwillingness to settle for life’s shit. Everything about you, Mark thinks, even your quick temper and sharp tongue and your countless other flaws, is something beautiful to him.

How did he never realize it before?

“I’m fine,” he replies, trying for a smile. Then, because he can’t lie to you: “Just got an F on a Spanish worksheet.”

He tries to laugh it off in the moment, but you don’t smile or even make a joke. “We can cut down patrol time if you need to study,” you say seriously.

Mark wants to say yes. He really does. It’s like he’s a candle, and fire is burning at him from both ends. He doesn’t know if he can keep this up.

But if you can deal with it, why can’t he? He shakes his head. “I’m fine, honestly.” He squeezes your hand. “I promise.”

It’s a lie. You know it’s a lie and he does too. But it’s one of those lies that’s just too difficult to call out, so you just lean into his shoulder as the subway lurches, letting him feel your warmth by his side.

“You can tell me anything, you know?” you say over the clatter of the train car.

Mark’s heart clenches. “I know.”

. . . . .

There’s another brand of article that’s really pissing you off. It’s the kind that praises Spiderman while pointing out all the flaws in Silk.

You don’t remember exactly when you find the first one. You’re just kind of scrolling through an op-ed in the Daily Bugle that’s describing the disturbingly positive correlation between Spiderman and Silk’s appearances and the crime rate, and the link pops up as something suggested.

Well, you’re already in a shitty mood, you think. Might as well take it a bit further.

It’s laughable, most of it. There’s a lot of blatant sexism that you can brush away quickly. But one thing that hits you really hard is the fact that you like to talk shit during your fights.

While the article lauds Mark for being silent and serious during fights, it bashes your inability to shut up as you throw punches. It then goes into detail about how you clearly don’t take crime-fighting seriously, that you’re just like a stupid little kid (well, not in those words, but pretty much the same thing), and that “Silk should leave the handling of criminals to good, upstanding citizens who won’t embarrass Queens as much as her loud mouth does.”

The first thought that pops into your mind is, which fucking assholes are the ones blabbing about me cursing all the time? You didn’t know criminals were such tattletales.

Then you remember several of your recent, more public fights with the weirdest people ever (seriously? Doc Ock? What even was that?), and you remember the spitfire that your mouth was in those moments.

Do I really curse too much?

It makes you self-conscious. You know there are several teachers and students at school who dislike you for your loud mouth (cough, Ms. Wilson), but you never really took them seriously.

But now that people online are noticing it too…

For the first few days, you try to ignore the article. But every time you open your mouth to snap back something funny or curse someone out, it’s like the article just slams into your mind with full force and you snap your mouth shut.

God, it’s something like having a parent next to you while you’re trying to talk with your friends. Just as a curse builds up on your tongue, the article comes to mind and you shut up.

And then when you start falling silent, it becomes apparent just how much you really curse. It honestly surprises you a little bit – you didn’t realize that “fuck” was such a huge part of your vocabulary until now.

So, slowly, bit by bit, you stop talking as much. If you don’t talk, you won’t curse. You won’t bother anyone. Because if a few fucks and shits are that annoying to people on the Internet, who knows how much they annoy people in real life?

No one really notices, you think. People just carry on the conversation like you’re not even there, only turning around when they want to ask something specifically to you. You won’t lie – it hurts a little. It makes you realize just how easily replaceable you are in some people’s lives.

A couple of people do notice. You’ll always be thankful for your immediate friend group, you think. Haechan and Mark deliberately engage you in conversation when you fall silent. Jihyo often comes over then too, and sometimes Yeri.

But only one actually reaches out to you, asks why you aren’t talking so much.

Mark startles you a bit when he asks. He’s often asked if you’re all right, if you’re feeling fine because you look a little tired, but this time, he pinpoints it exactly. “Why don’t you talk anymore?” he asks as the two of you walk from the university labs to the train station.

“I’m talking right now, Mark,” you reply quickly, though you feel slightly off kilter.

“You know what I mean.” He stops walking. “You’re not as… loud? You don’t talk unless someone else explicitly talks to you, and even then, you don’t, like, curse. Or laugh. Or anything.” He pauses. “You don’t yell when we patrol, either.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you try to digest his words. A huge wave of emotion that you can’t even begin to decipher makes tears prick at your eyes, but you will them away. “Do you…” You chew your lip, then decide to just go for it. “Do you think it’s annoying when I curse? Or that it pisses people off?”

“What?” Now Mark looks confused. “Where did you get that from?” His eyes narrow. “Was it another article?”

Your wince tells him everything. “Y/N,” he groans, slapping his face. “I thought you stopped reading those!”

“Well, it’s not like you stopped either!” you snap defensively.

Mark’s shoulders sag. “Fair. But… Jesus.” He shakes his head. “Whatever article even mentioned that is stupid as fuck.”

“A lot of things are stupid,” you mumble. “Doesn’t stop them from getting at us.”

A short silence follows.

“Let me see the article,” Mark says.

It doesn’t take long for you to bring it up on your phone. As he scrolls through, his eyebrows rise higher and higher on his forehead until he’s finished. There’s a disgusted, yet slightly amused look on his face as he hands the phone back to you. “You know this is, like, blatantly sexist, right?” he says.

“Yeah, I know.” You shove the phone into your pocket. “But it’s just… after I read that, I realized just how much I do curse every day. And if people online were getting annoyed by it, why wouldn’t people in real life be annoyed too?”

Mark just gathers you into a hug, crushing you against his chest. You relax into his warmth. “Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs into your ear. “I think you’re hilarious. Your cursing is funny as fuck. I always wish I had your ability to come up with insults on the fly. Remember Doc Ock?”

You snort, voice muffled against his shirt. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah, and do you think I’m ever going to forget you calling him a ‘fucking nightmare straight out of a tentacle porn horror flick’?” Mark pulls back a little to look you in the face. He’s smiling broadly. “The only reason I’m quiet during fights is because I can’t think of anything worth saying that’s funny. That’s your job, and I won’t let you quit.”

A short laugh bubbles out of your chest. “Fine.”

“Now can we both make a pact to stop reading those stupid articles?” Mark asks, fully letting you go. You miss the warmth of his touch around your shoulders. “They’re shortening my lifespan, but the only way I’ll be able to stop reading them is if you promise not to read them either.”

“You make it sound like we’re going cold turkey from drugs,” you retort. “But fine. I do need to stop.”

“Pinky promise?” Mark holds out his pinky like the two of you are six again, promising not to tell each other’s guardians that you played in the dirt again (like they couldn’t already tell from the brown spots all over your clothes). His eyes sparkle.

An unknown emotion builds in your chest, so strong and powerful it almost knocks you over. You link your pinky with his and press your thumbs together, smiling widely for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

“Pinky promise.”

. . . . .

Mark has had panic attacks before. He used to have them several times a month after Uncle Ben died, but after almost ten years, they haven’t resurfaced.

Then one day, several months after Germany, he’s walking through the university halls to Tuan’s lab when he feels the familiar, yet unfamiliar sensation of choking on his own breath.

It’s never been like this before, he thinks after he’s pulled himself out of that dizzying haze of pain. There always used to be a cause that he could pinpoint. Something black that looked like a gun. A man’s bald head that looked like the murderer’s. A spot of blood on a white sidewalk.

This time, he’s just walking down a hall. There’s nothing he can really see that would trigger an attack. Hell, nothing in the university even really reminds him of his uncle’s death. Guns stopped triggering him a while ago (thank God, or he couldn’t be fighting crime at night). He hasn’t been fazed by blood in several years.

So what’s wrong with him?

Maybe it’s just stress, he postulates, standing up on shaky legs. He’s got a lot to deal with this year, what with preparing for competitions and college applications and all. It’ll get better soon. This is probably just a one-time thing.

Except it isn’t.

He has another panic attack at home as he’s lying in bed, then another while he’s trying to cook something in the kitchen. After almost burning himself while turning off the stove, he just lies down on the kitchen floor, not caring how gross this position is, and starts reevaluating his life.

God, he’d forgotten how much these things hurt. 

His old therapist told him a lot about panic attacks, how they could be brought on by many things like trauma and stress. Mark knows his trauma isn’t fully gone, but most of his triggers have faded. It’s probably stress, and now that he thinks of it, he has a lot to be stressed about.

So he knows what’s going on. Telling someone would probably help, but it’s not like Aunt Mei could afford a therapist again, so what’s the point? His only option is to keep going.

So he forges on through life. The fear of another attack keeps him on edge, but he’s learned from his younger years that he can’t really avoid them. He just has to keep going. Keep living. There’s no point in telling anyone.

Until he walks into you suffering an attack of your own.

He literally almost walks into you. He’s just opened the door to your apartment – he has a spare key, and you weren’t letting him in – and you’re crouched just inside the door, trembling and sweating, breathing far too quickly and shallowly to be normal.

Mark’s heart seizes. A sort of sick sense of relief floods his mind when he realizes what’s going on – he isn’t alone.

Then he feels totally, utterly ashamed. Under no circumstance would he ever want someone to undergo a panic attack like him.

He racks his mind for the tips his doctor gave Mei to help get him through his own episodes. Keep calm. Short, simple sentences. Avoid surprises. Slow their breathing.

“Y/N, I’m here,” Mark hears himself say. He sits down a short distance away, keeping a steady countenance even though he’s freaking out on the inside. “Can I hold your hand?”

You don’t say anything, just weakly raise an arm. Your breath is just as fast as before.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking it. His thumb starts soothing patterns over your palm. “Okay. I’m going to start tracing squares onto your hand. If you can, follow my tracing with your breath. Each corner is one breath, okay?”

There’s the slightest nod. He starts tracing.

Mark doesn’t know how long he sits there, helping calm you down from your panic. Aunt Mei told him his panic attacks would last around fifteen minutes, but they never felt that short. He just keeps tracing your palm, offering small encouragements every now and then, and eventually, your breathing starts to slow until it’s back to normal.

He scoots closer, bringing your head to his chest. You just lean against him limply, like a rag doll, breathing heavily.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark finally murmurs, all thoughts of your group project gone. The only thing he’s focused on right now is making sure you’re okay. “Actually, are you tired? We don’t have to talk right now.”

“It’s fine. Not too exhausted. Just… didn’t want to worry anyone,” you mumble into his shirt. Another heavy breath. “Weak. You didn’t look like you were having problems, but –” you gasp – “stupid stuff. Kept setting me off. Loud noises, small spaces…”

Mark’s heart sinks. “How long?” he asks.

“First one was the day Mr. Stark came over,” you answer.

Jesus Christ. You’ve been having these panic attacks for months already, and you never told anyone. Mark feels a little like crying. “What happened then?”

“Explosion in the lab,” you gasp. “Wang messed something up, it exploded. I started hyperventilating but Yuta pulled me out before I spiraled.”

A memory surfaces in Mark’s mind. “So that day you ran to the bathroom at school…” he trails off, feeling sick.

How did he not notice before?

“Someone banged a locker too loudly,” you mumble. “Sounded like an explosion. Something crashing.”

Trauma. There’s no doubt about it. “Were you remembering… homecoming? When the building got dropped on us?” Mark presses gently.

You nod against his chest.

Oh, God. “I wish you’d told somebody,” he whispers, more to himself than to you.

“I wanted to.” Your breath is back, but you sound close to tears. “It just felt like you were handling it so much better than I was. You were going through school fine, but I was panicking over just fucking loud noises, and then I also started panicking over nothing at all.” You heave a deep breath. “I thought I was dying.”

Mark shifts you in his arms into a more comfortable position. “I used to have panic attacks after Uncle Ben died,” he states.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Anything that looked remotely like a gun used to set me off. Black staplers, hole punchers, stuff like that. Blood, too. Once, a bald man sent me spiraling. This was mostly before we met, so I didn’t think you’d know.”

“I didn’t,” you say, lifting your head to stare up at him. “Mark…”

“I started having panic attacks again about a month ago.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “The first once just came out of nowhere. I was walking down one of the halls to the lab. My old therapist told me attacks can come randomly, just out of stress. So, nothing to be ashamed about there.”

You sit up, though you still hold Mark’s hand for strength. “If you say so, how come you didn’t tell me?”

He laughs slightly. You’re feeling better, if you can be as snappy as this. “Same reason as you, I guess.” Mark smiles ruefully. “I thought you were handling things really well. You looked like you were sailing through school, even when I got that F in Spanish. So… I don’t know. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Burden me?” You scoff. “Shut up. You’re never a burden. Not to me.”

Something in Mark’s heart blossoms. “Y/N,” he starts, but he can’t say anything more.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask, voice smaller. It’s almost as if you’re scared of the answer, but it’s already on the tip of Mark’s tongue before you even finish the question.

“Of course not!” he snaps. “Never,” he adds, more gently.

“Good.” You smile. It’s wobbly and a little forced, but it’s a real smile. “If I’m not a burden to you, you’re not a burden to me. Tell me things, all right? And I’ll tell you.” You squeeze his chest between your arms.

Mark breathes a soft sigh as you close your eyes, pressing your head against his chest again. “All right,” he murmurs. “Are you going to tell Johnny?”

At that, you freeze. “N… no,” you finally reply, sounding choked. “Not… not yet.”

“You should,” Mark reprimands slightly.

“Then you should tell Mei,” you retort.

Stalemate. Mark sighs. “All right. At least I know now. But if it gets worse, I’ll tell him myself,” Mark warns.

“Fine. Same goes for you,” you say.

“Fine.” He pats your head and you wrinkle your nose like a bunny. Mark almost coos at the sight. “Let’s rest. Group project can get done later.”

“I like the way you think,” you say, stumbling on your way up.

Mark catches you, puts you upright, and smiles. “I’m glad you do.”

. . . . .

It’s one of those unusually slow days where you just want the day to end. The snow outside isn’t exciting anymore – in fact, it’s more slush than snow, which is gross – school is boring, and Wang isn’t in the lab today. Mark still has stuff to do for Tuan, though, so you end up walking home from the train station alone. You’re not patrolling today because neither Mei nor Johnny have late shifts tonight. Also, you’re really tired.

All of this gives you too much time to think, especially about the person who should be walking home right next to you.

Mark has always been someone easy to figure out, at least for you. He doesn’t talk as much as you, but when he does, he’s very sweet. He wears his emotions on his sleeve but in a subtler way than most. A lot of people can detect a change in his mood, but they can’t exactly pinpoint what mood he’s in.

You can, though. On day one, when the two of you met, you just clicked. You immediately understood each other. After almost ten years, none of that has changed.

Until now.

You sigh, taking your shoes off at the door. Johnny isn’t home yet, but he will be soon. You walk into your room and throw yourself on the bed to wait, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It’s totally Mark’s fault, you think wryly. He’s become confusing. How are you supposed to comprehend the swells of emotion you feel when he does something kind, or sweet, or just plain comforting?

Well, that doesn’t make sense. Mark’s been doing those things ever since you two were children in elementary school. So maybe not understanding him isn’t his fault. Maybe it’s yours.

Your thoughts turn to the time he found you during a panic attack, the comfort of his fingers tracing simple squares into the palm of your hand. It could have been a lot worse, you think, if he hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t held your hand and helped you through.

A rush of emotion fills your throat. You’re too tired to fight it, so you just let it wash through your mind. It feels… confusing, yes, because there’s too many strands of feelings to pick out of the wave, but it also feels nice. Gentle. Caressing, soft.

It feels like how Mark’s hand felt, loosely gripping yours.

That was just the last time you felt like this, you remember. There were other times, too. As you run through the memories, you realize those moments aren’t as few and far between as you originally thought. Laughing as you walk home from the train station. Awkwardly stuttering while stealing Captain America’s shield in Germany. The hug and the pinky promise from a few weeks ago.

Maybe this is just what best friends do. Maybe this is just what happens when you’ve known someone for so long they’re basically a part of you.

But the title “best friend” doesn’t feel like it’s enough anymore. Yeah, Mark is your best friend and he’ll always have that title in his arsenal. It doesn’t encompass everything, though.

No, best friend is far from covering it all.

You like him. You like Mark.

As something much more than a best friend.

Your throat constricts as your mind races. For so long, you’ve ignored every sign that your feelings towards Mark might be something more than platonic.

Then you remember the night you thought Mark died underneath the abandoned building. The half-finished, panicky thoughts from that terrifying moment rush back so quickly you feel like you’re having vertigo.

Please, please help me find my best friend, I can’t live without him, I’m sorry for everything I said to him these past few weeks, I love him and I want him back, please –

You sit up straight with the realization, trying to breathe.

I love him.

You love Mark. You’ve probably loved him for a long time, you just didn’t realize it. Or maybe you just didn’t want to, because what if he doesn’t feel the same way?

Mark took a bullet for you, your brain whispers. Then the last conversation you had with Lia comes to mind.

“I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Lia, I promise you that he really did like you.”

“Maybe. Just not as much as he or I thought he did. Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Maybe he does.

Your throat constricts again. You feel the (now familiar) sensation of your chest closing up as thoughts and memories rattle around your mind.

Am I seriously going to have a panic attack over Mark liking or not liking me? is your last coherent thought.

You almost don’t hear Johnny calling your name as he walks through the door. Even when you do, you can’t respond. His voice gets more worried as he gets closer, and you see his eyes widen when he opens the door to your room.

It’s like you blink, and then he’s next to you. Vaguely, you hear him ask if he can hold your hand. When you nod briefly, he doesn’t trace patterns into your palm, but he holds it gently, quietly talking you through the episode until your gasping turns to heaving that turns to normal breath.

For a long time, you just lie on your bed, feeling Johnny’s hand ground you to the earth. “How did you know what to do?” you finally ask, voice slightly raspy.

“One of my roommates at university used to have panic attacks,” your brother replies quietly. “He taught us what to do in case we ever had one or encountered someone having one.” He sucks in a breath. “How long have you been having these?”

Well, there’s no point in hiding it. “A few months,” you admit.

Johnny sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it trembles anyway. “You already have to work just to let the two of us survive, while I’m just going around and doing things that don’t matter. I don’t make money. I just take up space. I don’t help. You had enough to deal with.”

Your bed dips and then Johnny’s putting you into a very light chokehold. “Excuse me?�� he says teasingly, though you can hear an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. “Did you just say that you don’t matter? Because you do. Very much.”

“But –”

“Nope, my turn.” He lets you out of the chokehold but keeps a gentle hand on your arm. “I will tell you something right now. If you weren’t here, I would no longer have anything to live for.”

You shut up.

“I make enough for us to live, don’t I?” Johnny looks down at you. “And don’t you technically make a lot of money for us each year, keeping your academic scholarship?”

“Well…” You swallow. “I mean, I guess?”

“So you’re not allowed to say you’re a waste of space.” Johnny turns you around to look right into his eyes. “You’re my younger sister. I love you far more than you can imagine, and I want to worry about you. It’s my duty as your older brother. I want you to be able to talk to me. Trust me, you not telling me things stresses me out more than you telling me everything.”

A ping of regret hits your heart. There’s so much more you haven’t told him, so much more that you can’t tell him just yet.

Well, he knows this now, at least.

“What causes your panic attacks?” Johnny asks gently, rubbing soothing circles onto the top of your hand.

You can’t tell him about the loud noises, but small spaces is reasonable. So is stress. “I’m not completely sure,” you begin slowly, “but I think it’s stress. Small spaces, too. Most of the time, they happen out of nowhere.”

Johnny sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You look up at him, confused.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier.” He hangs his head.

“Oh, no. No.” You punch his shoulder. “If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself.”

“Caught by my own logic,” Johnny groans, rubbing the spot you hit. “Fine. What caused this one?”

Man, you just promised yourself you’d start telling Johnny things, and then he goes asking something like this. You swallow. “Stress,” you say truthfully. Your voice gets smaller. “I also think I’m… I think I like Mark.”

Whatever you thought was going to happen, you didn’t expect him to laugh. “Johnny?”

Your brother thankfully calms down, though a smile stays on his face. “Congratulations, you’re officially the last one to know.”

“… What.”

“Y/N. My oblivious younger sister. Listen to me.” Johnny stares you straight in the eye. “There are many cases where best friends just remain best friends forever. However, you and Mark definitely do not fall in that category. Anyone who’s seen you two interact can tell.”

You have no clue to what to say to that.

“It’s obvious you two like each other,” your brother finally says, smiling even wider. “I’m just happy you figured it out.”

“This is so embarrassing,” you mutter, pulling away to flop onto your bed. “You think he likes me back?”

Johnny snorts. “I know he likes you back.”

Silence falls in the darkening room. “Go for it, Y/N,” Johnny finally says. “You’re brave. You can do it.”

Lia’s words come to mind again. “I thought he might’ve actually liked me, but… it’s pretty clear who he really does.”

“Maybe,” you say, even though you think you already know what you’ll do. “Maybe I will.”

. . . . .

Mark doesn’t live in Florida. Nor does he live in Texas. No, he lives in New York, where the weather can still be shitty, but it’s more or less predictable.

He didn’t sign up for this.

The day starts out nice enough. Gray light streaks through the sky as the two of you start out for Stark Tower, suits in hand. The sun is fully up in the sky by the time the you reach the tower, and it only shines brighter as Mr. Stark teaches the two of you to fix up more of the nanotech.

Somehow, the two of you hadn’t managed to fuck up your suits that badly that week, so Mr. Stark lets you go early. The sun is still shining brightly at that point – it’s probably two or three in the afternoon – so you suggest going to Central Park to work on your research papers in the shade.

One hour passes in quiet bliss, then two. You ask him to read over a paragraph and he asks you to check over the diagrams in his appendix. All the while you two are working, the sun is shining brightly, making you thankful for the shade the trees provide.

Then the clouds start coming in.

Mark doesn’t react to it at first, just welcomes the extra cover from the intense sun. It’s only just started getting warmer so there’s still a cool breeze, but after months of freezing snow, the heat isn’t entirely welcome yet.

But the clouds keep coming to the point where they’ve all but blocked the sun. You look up with a frown. “We should go,” you say, shutting your laptop. “I think it might rain.”

“Really?” Mark can see why you’d think that, given the heavy clouds, but the sun was shining so brightly just an hour ago. The weather probably wouldn’t change that fast.

You shrug. “Better safe than sorry. Plus, it’s already five. We’d be going soon, anyway.”

You turn out to be right. It starts drizzling by the time you reach the subway station, and he can hear the rain start pouring as the train takes them back home.

“This isn’t Florida,” he complains. “I thought it wouldn’t start raining until, like, next month.”

“We love our favorite global issue, climate change!” You make jazz hands while rolling your eyes. Mark laughs.

He’s so in love with you it doesn’t even make sense to him anymore. Is this how Mei and Ben felt? Is this how his parents felt? If so, how did he not realize it earlier, if you make him feel like this all the time?

The rain is still pouring down in sheets by the time you two emerge from the subway station. “Let’s wait for a bit,” Mark says, unwilling to get soaked to the bone. The apartment isn’t too far away, but in this weather, it might as well be a mile.

However, the minutes pass, and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up at all. In the end, you just put your jackets on and run for it.

Mark hasn’t run through the rain in a long time. Physically, it isn’t pleasant. Water soaks his hair and his clothes, and he can only hope that it won’t ruin his laptop, too.

But a smile still blooms on his face as you run next to him, eyes squeezed almost shut to block out the rain, water running through your hair, mouth open in a laugh that sounds like music to his ears. Somewhere along the way, you grab his hand, pulling him along faster as your shoes squelch through puddles.

You drag him under a shop awning about halfway back to the apartment to catch your breath. Despite the cold rain, your cheeks are glowing with contagious warmth and excitement that makes Mark let out a breathless laugh.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, gasping for breath, listening to the sheets of rain pouring onto the awning. Water drips down your faces and into puddles on the ground, and Mark privately thinks you shouldn’t look this beautiful, but you do.

“Hey, Mark?” Your voice jerks him out of a rose-colored daze.

“Mhm?” he replies.

A flash of uncertainty passes through your eyes, but steely fire quickly replaces it. “Can I kiss you?”

The world comes to a standstill. It’s like he’s frozen in time, listening to those four simple words play over and over in his ears.

Can I kiss you?

“Mark?” Your voice is smaller this time, but you still gaze at him with a look that he recognizes – not just from your face, but from his aunt’s, too, when she looked at Uncle Ben. It’s a look that must be mirrored on his face right now.

It’s love.

He nods once, twice, then breathes out a little “yes” that even he can barely hear through the crashing rain, but he knows you heard it when your smile turns blindingly bright and you loop your arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss.

It’s messy, a bit cold, and your noses bump into each other the first time your lips press together, but Mark just laughs and you just smile and then he’s leaning in for a second one, a bit more practiced this time, cold lips turning warm as Mark holds you close, hands encircling your waist, just reveling in the feeling of your body pressed against his.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed by the time you two break apart, skin chilled but faces warm, smiling shyly but broadly, eyes sparkling. “You’re beautiful,” Mark breathes, then immediately goes tomato red.

You laugh, loudly but – you’re so cute – shyly as well. “So are you,” you reply.

The two of you race home after that, laughter unaffected by the gray clouds and pouring rain. And as Mark stands, kissing you in the apartment lobby as water drips off of him into puddles on the floor, he feels nothing but bliss.

His life’s been flipped upside down, ever since that spider bite. So many things have gone wrong.

But this?

Mark smiles against your lips.

This is one thing that’s gone right.

[blonde-toddy]

Random and Not So Random thoughts while watching Bridgerton: Season 1, Episode 6

It has taken me a while to do this. But I write this shit down so....

I wonder if they got busy in that carriage.

Probably.

Ok Clyvedon! Y'all are definitely not in the square anymore.

Aww Mrs. Colson. You're so proper and ready to show off and he's just trying to break that back in.

Gahh that place.

Ok Simon, go off!

Aw we're really just diverting there.

You really don't want to know Hyacinth.

Eloise is not here for the shits.

Oh, Colin. You fucking idiot. The one time Violet and Anthony are in agreement.

Colin you happy, dumb boy.

Brothels though?

Colin has a point. He is older than Daphne.

To be fair Colin and Daphne are both getting okie doked.

You horny mfs. I love it.

"You are already Duchess of all this." Yes please.

Ooooh that flip and the way he patted at her hips. They are too good.

Aw Daphne is trying to be proper and Simon is like "fuck all that."

Your Graces.

Jeffries dgaf about this damn honeymoon.

Oh Daphne, she just wants to show you around without YOUR commentary.

Redecorating? Didn't she say she did a bunch of improvements?

"A perfect Duchess." Ok you shady bitch.

Yeah that nursery shit is coming back.

All dressed up and no where to go.

"You're so far away." He wants his WIFE!

They have no chill and the staff don't know how to react.

Mrs. Colson absolutely does not approve.

Girl he hates that place. Gut it!

This man and the way he takes off gloves. Good fucking gawd.

Their poor staff.

I swear I swear I swear that man man is living, breathing, dripping seduction.

Well shit take it outside then.

Queue the rain.

Yes. Remove the wet clothes. ALLUM!!!!!

He is the king of playin with it. And I fucking love it.

"Do you like this?" Fuck yes! Talk. To. Me.

I wonder how many orgasms this man has caused.

"Tell me what you want." Keep talking, yes.

And by "you" she meant that dick.

"Does that hurt?" No boo, it sure doesn't.

But your ignorance on the subject does. Him taking advantage of your ignorance also does.

I love love love Simon but I'm having a harder time with his evasion now that they're actively getting busy.

She's bound to figure it out though, right?

Ahh they're still hot af to me.

Oh shit they're still going.

That picnic. Omfg. Flippin that ass like.....

Head on a ladder?!?!?! Get you some Daphne. Oh sweet Simon....

Sex on a ladder too.

They're really like "fuck the staff." And the staff is like "haha, keep fuckin."

Don't go there Mrs. Colson....

Welp.

That shoe dropping. Gawd yes.

Daphne really went from knowing ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to getting that Grade A like a beast.

Though Simon is obviously a withholder, the man is sexually attentive and attuned to her physical desires. He comes to please, indeed.

That tangle.

Ok, girl tell Rose your business.

I do love Rose. I want more of her.

"His physical inability to have children." Oh the sting of lies and ignorance.

"Difficult entanglement." Go head Rose.

Oh Colin, you fucked up lil buddy.

Hyacinth is a treasure.

I like that Violet does try to be supportive.

Penelope and her passive aggressive ass is saucy.

She's mad af.

The sisters do crack me up.

Penelope is dripping salt.

Oh Eloise. They really are putting you out there homie.

Awkward Marina.

Portia is mf hyped! She is all about that social climbing.

But she's gotta negotiate the bag before she pop tags on new Dresses.

Aw shit Marina caught Delacroix. Her French accent was a bit cartoonish.

Curious Eloise.

Oh children.

Oh poor oblivious Daphne. Simon, help your wife.

A fucking tie. Bitch they gotta kill them to eat them. Simon, again, help your wife. Tell your wife THINGS!

Y'all fucking dumb off all that sex and living in la la land apparently.

Well somebody liked his evil ass daddy.

Diplomatic Daphne.

Another sprinkle of kids....and pregnancy too.

I saw that longing look.

Aww she's worried he's hurt by being around children. If only you knew.

"I thought only of you." Really, mf?! As you keep up this lie.

She's so optimistic about her circumstances.

He's lucky he's beautiful. And that I pity him a bit. Because he's a motherfucker.

How did you get so lucky? Well you're lying to your wife and she doesn't know how sperm works sooooooo there's that.

What a beautiful expansive scene though.

Penelope is PISSED.

No belly yet.

Passive. Aggressive.

Oh this dinner is so awkward.

Portia you are not subtle at all.

Anthony is still CLEARLY not here for this engagement.

Oh is she about to snitch.

Well shit. She's kind of snitching.

Aww. He thinks your such a good friend, but hes got this.

You're sneaky and he's stupid.

Marina is hustling.

Eloping is always a grand idea. Colin you fucking dummy.

Marina is so relieved.

Aw where's Simon?

Sad Daphne is not a good look.

Grouchy workaholic Simon is not a good look either....but he does have a lot of responsibility in all fairness.

Mrs. Colson is so sick of Daphne.

Homegirl is just trying to find her footing. At least Rose stays supportive.

Have I said how much I love Rose?

Damn no one wants to talk to Daphne.

Aw she's befriended the pregnant lady with the screaming toddler.

I'm glad someone is finally explaining shit to Daphne. She can't grow if she don't know.

Too busy for his wife now......I'm not liking this vibe.

Aw she's trying to hash it out with Mrs. Colson.

Oooh she's looking for guidance about Simon.

He really hasn't told her shit about his life.

The power dynamic of their relationship is frustrating.

All this talk of being barren.....

She misses Simon's mama.

Strong seed got her thinking!

Penelope you sneaky, lying ass....what are you up to?

She has hope yet again. She about to expose her mother.

She ain't giving up.

Marina is damned and determined to marry Colin.

Oh Marina went there THERE.

You're gonna see your wife, Your Fucking Grace.

Stressy Simon is such a grouch.....but I'm not judging. I'm the same way.

But when they're affectionate, fuck.

He really just tossed her up on that desk like "Fuck work."

And he proceeded to fuckin work that mf thang.

How many people in the world are fucking like crazy right now because their significant others stay turned on by this show.

If I were not single, I would most definitely be pouncing on my partner ALL. THE. TIME.

Ok. Back to the show.

That was a mighty aggressive pull-out.

Relatable Simon. I too like foods after fucks.

Oh shit Daphne connecting the dots.

Rose out here saving the day like usual.

Well at least Daphne knows where babies come from now.

Everything is about to shatter, amrite?

She can't even hear a word he says. She feels so betrayed.

The piglet.

Dat ass though. And those shoulders.

Yeah that's gonna be a no tonight.

Oooh and now he wakes up without her.

She's fucking heartbroken.

The man she loves took away her choice with his deceit.

He allowed her to believe he was unable, not unwilling.

Would she have married him if he told the truth?

He was ready to die about the shit and still lied though.

All he ever had to do was tell her the whole fucking truth.

Everything this WOMAN knows about love and sex, she's learned from this man (and the real MVP Rose). He has literally taught her everything from the start of her sexual awakening. He knows better than anyone how ignorant she is regarding literally ANYTHING sexual in nature. I know he's insanely damaged, but this fucking hurts.

It's a unique feeling of unease and helplessness when you feel or realize you don't have agency over your own body.

An absence of the option to consent if you will.

I know this is a show, and I suppose it's doing its job because it's getting me deep into my thoughts and feelings. And I sure as a mf ENJOY THE FUCK out of watching them literally breathe in the same room with each other....among the many other things they do onscreen together. I guess I'm just heartbroken too. Shit. Plus y'all know I love tf out of my girl Daphne.

Ok back to the show again. This episode is fucking with my emotions.

Daphne is stewing!

But fuck if this isn't romantic as a mf.

These 2 fuck me up every time!

JPOLND - The End. That's this song. And this song is perfect.

Yes y'all! Rip them clothes off.

Daphne looks wild as hell. Carnal. She has a carnal look about her.

Ok bitch. Climb that mf tree then!

Is she anger-fucking him?!

Either way, he's loving it!!!

This song really is perfect.

Oh shit she's not letting up.

Fuck.

This shoe dropping?! Gawd NO!

She was literally like you took my choice so I took yours.

These fucking two.

He's hot with it for good reason for sure, but she is going in!

How the fuck could you think she knew how this worked when she didn't know what masturbation, let alone sex was until you got a hold of her?

YOU. PLAYED. ON. HER. IGNORANCE.

Maybe this conversation should have been had before y'all got naked.

They're both right in their own ways.

But they are absofuckinglutely wrong in so many of their own ways too.

He didn't ask for her pity and she didn't ask for his betrayal.

They are tearing me apart right now!

Big Sean said it best. "I guess drama makes for the best content."

I'm still rooting for them. I love growth and we still got 2 episodes left. They can't stay stuck like this, I'm sure.

Oh hey Whistledown.

Aww go to your friend.

Wtf is going on?

Are they all trying to kill me?

Aw fuck. Marina has been blasted by Whistledown. It's over.

Pure little Colin.

Oh Simon is heartbroken and Daphne.......she's desperate for a baby.

"Can the ends ever justify such wretched means?" That's a great question Whistledown. I'll have to get back to you on that.

I will close this with happiness because I refuse to accept this heartbreak.

[blouisparadise]

Although most of us aren’t able to go on vacation at the moment, we hope this rec list will make everyone feel a bit better than that. Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Harry, Louis, or both boys go on vacation at some point during the fic. Happy reading!

1) This Is Where I Sleep | Explicit | 3678 words

Harry and Louis go camping while on break and make some memories.

2) Under the Vanilla Sky | Explicit | 8006 words

Who the hell wears a hat like that on a yacht?  That's one of the things Louis thinks when he sees Harry from across the deck of the most expensive, ridiculous boat he's ever been on.  He also thinks he'd like to get closer.  Just to see what's under those aviators.  Just to verify that, yes, in fact, those white swim trunks might be a little see-through when wet.  Just to see if someone could really be that hot in real life.  On a yacht.  In the Caribbean sea just off the coast of St. Barts.  

Here's what really happened on that yacht.

Or, my opinion, at least.

3) Rather This Than Live Without You | Explicit | 10715 words

Harry decides to give it all up. Louis refuses to be left behind.

4) Ready To Run | Explicit | 11940 words

After being left at the alter by his boyfriend of five years, Louis goes on a vacation to try and clear his head and fill the empty spaces in his heart. On the way, he meets a new group of life-long friends, and maybe a little more than that.

5) I Know You Have A Heavy Heart (I Can Feel It When We Kiss) | Explicit | 14489 words | Sequel

In which Louis is spending New Year’s alone in France but he’s definitely not running away, and Harry is a french florist with an ever present smile who cares a lot. They meet a cold night in the outskirts of Paris.

6) Don’t Put Out The Glow | Not Rated | 15007 words

"He fists out a pair of skinny jeans and a plain black tee. Nothing wrong there. Then he sees an atrocious Hawaiian shirt in Zayn’s hand and he starts digging through the bag urgently, pulling out more and more items that don’t belong to him."

7) Pleasure Over Matter | Explicit | 152014 words

Harry is a bit out of his element, and an unsuspecting stranger provides him temporary relief.

8) All I Want Is To Fall With You | Mature | 16254 words

The weekend ski trip where omega Louis discovers that he can’t change a tire and his skiing skills are debatable but still manages to find the alpha who will change his life.

9) Some Flowers In Your Hair | Explicit | 23015 words

A magical camping AU in which Louis is jealous of Harry's magic, Liam's a little too enthusiastic about surviving in the wilderness, and Niall might have misunderstood the rules.

10) Force of Nature | Mature | 25672 words

Louis is a shy, young musician who doesn't want to go to Harvard.

Harry is a confident,  second year athlete who likes to have a good time.

When their paths cross while their families are vacationing at the same lake resort, what begins as a summer of fun becomes a defining journey that might just change everything.

11) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27085 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

12) Rivers ‘Til I Reach You | Explicit | 29315 words

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

13) The List | Mature | 32094 words

'In the weeks that follow, Harry opens his old journal more than he has in the past two years each time he remembers Venice or thinks about Louis. He always flips to the same random page in the middle of the book, marked by the picture of himself that Louis sent him a few days after they got home. There’s a message on the back that says, ‘Spontaneous looks good on you! See you soon,’ and it makes Harry’s chest warm each time he reads it. He wedges their list out from between the worn pages, and it feels silly staring down at a folded up piece of paper with a strange sense of nostalgia for experiences they’ve yet to have; for places they’ve never even been.'

14) (Your Heartbeat) Rang True Inside My Bones | Explicit | 32945 words

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

15) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

16) And Touch Me Like You | Explicit | 35971 words

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

17) A Red-Dusted Planet | Explicit | 38265 words

A one-night stand in a small town in Australia turns into a weekend that Harry could've never predicted with a boy he may never forget.

18) A Rhythm In Rush | Explicit | 40010 words

Harry is a WWF journalist with big dreams and Louis is a glaciologist that flies helicopters for fun. Greenland is an odd place to spend Christmas, but just maybe, the perfect place to fall headfirst into love.

19) Nobody Does It Like You | Not Rated | 58520 words

Louis isn't looking for a home, but he finds one in Harry.

20) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

21) Tug-Of-War | Explicit | 63000

Louis' husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn't.

22) This Wicked Game | Explicit | 70010 words

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

23) Don’t Tell the Gods (We Left a Mess) | Explicit | 71556 words

After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.)

24) Perfect Storm | Explicit | 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

25) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Explicit | 102528 words

Another roadtrip au featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

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

[princess-of-riviaa]

The Last Time (Part 1)

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: As an agent of the CIA, August is always leaving you. This time, you’re sure your heart is too broken for it be mended.  But when he shows up in your life after a six month absence, you realize things are never so simple with him.

Author’s Note: If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m looking at you, Vices Chapter 5) then you know that I have a weird obsession with a couple sharing a meal together and enjoying wine. I just think it’s very romantic and relaxing and the idea of someone cooking my favorite meal for me in my home gets me all soft. So I had to put it in here. Enjoy ;) also, I am obsessed with Taylor Swift and one of my all time fav songs of hers is “The Last Time” on her Red album, which gave me a lot of inspiration for this fic lol

Warning(s): there is literally no smut, just angst (I’m writing a part 2 to this that will include smut)

Word Count: 2.5k

There’s a second impatient knock on your front door before you can even reach it. “One second! God, don’t you know that it takes time to answer a fucking door--” you began as you pulled the door open, then paused.

Hard blue eyes and a blank face stared down at you. His facial hair had grown out since you’d last seen him--what was it, six months?--but he was still just as thick with muscle. His brown curly hair was cut short and brushed back nicely, though his button-down shirt and jeans had blood stains on them. If you were anyone else, seeing August Walker standing at your door should have been enough to make you pee your pants or run and hide. But being who you were, and him being who he was, all you could do was stare at him.

He took you in, too, taking a minute to scan every inch of you and ensure you were the same woman he’d left behind all that time ago. August opened his mouth--

You slammed the door in his face.

“Seriously?” He scoffed, his deep voice loud enough to be heard through the door.

“Go away!” you hollered back.

“I’m not leaving,” he insisted.

“Go! Away!” You repeated, hitting your door and imagining it was him you were hitting instead, wanting to hurt him as much as he’d hurt you.

“Let me in,” he said calmly, knowing you would.

“Fuck you, August.” A lump formed in your throat. It became difficult to breathe, difficult to swallow, difficult to think--though the latter had more to do with who was on the other side of your door and less about the tears you struggled to hold back.

“Y/N.” Just the sound of your name on his lips made you want to give in. You wanted him to hold you in his arms as he kissed you passionately, his mouth whispering “I’m sorry”s against your own.

You crossed your arms, trying to resist the urge to open the door again. You knew your worth, knew you deserved more than what this man could give you. But you wanted him--oh, how you wanted him.

“January,” he murmured, barely loud enough for you to hear it.

You gasped. That name... that stupid nickname he had for you... god, it shouldn’t have so much power over you. But you found yourself opening the door anyways. You glared up at him, ignoring the relief in his blue eyes. “What do you want?”

“I want to come home,” he said.

You scoffed. “Tired of the bounty hunter life already?”

“Tired of being away from the one thing that matters in my life,” he corrected.

You paused. He always knew just what to say. It was what you hated and loved about him: his beautiful words full of empty promises. “You should leave. You’re doing no one any good by being here.”

He took a step towards you and his scent overwhelmed your senses. That faint hint of his cologne--something woodsy--mixed with the smell that was pure August wrapped around you in a phantom embrace. You practically whimpered. The day that smell had vanished from your sheets and clothes had been a hard one. You’d wanted that smell back ever since you lost it. Now that it was here, overwhelming you, you only wanted it to disappear again. “I needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were alright, that no one had touched you.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze as you snapped back, “You’ve worked hard to make sure that the world has no idea who I am, so no, no one’s come after me.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. The hurt in his eyes was surprising; he was usually a mask of indifference, refusing to let the world into his mind.

“You said you needed to see me,” you repeated. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now leave.”

“January,” he said again, stepping even closer to you. You were now pressed against your apartment’s foyer wall, stuck between that and August. “The promise of a fresh start.”

You knew what he was saying without having to actually say it. He was asking for forgiveness--for abandoning you like he always does, for making you worried sick for six months straight that each new day you’d wake up and hear the news that he was dead. “I’ve given you plenty of fresh starts, and they always end the same. With you running off on some new adventure and me all alone and broken hearted. You ruin me every time.”

“My adventure is when I’m with you,” he corrected. “My missions are just work.”

He was so close to you, so large against your small frame, that you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His shoes brushed against your bare toes and he eyed the thin tank top and booty shorts you were dressed in. The look made heat spread through your body and your thighs clenched together. It was always so easy for him to get under your skin. You hated it but you were helpless to fight against it.

“I missed you,” he said in a rare moment of vulnerability. “I missed falling asleep beside you every night. I missed coming home to a warm bed with you in it, your legs all tangled up in the sheets as you dreamed about me--about us. I missed touching you, missed marking what was mine.”

A whine caught in your throat at his words. You were suddenly glad to be leaning against the wall because your legs almost gave out at the thought of him taking you, fucking you, claiming you.

He moved slowly as he brought his hand up to your face, letting you push him away at any second. But you couldn’t--not when he was all you could hear and see and smell. He hadn’t even touched you and already you were bending to his will. His fingers brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “Tell me you missed me just as much, Y/N.”

Oh, just the way he said your name! You gave in and leaned into his touch as his thumb stroked your cheek.

“Or tell me you didn’t and I’ll leave,” he promised. “I’ll leave and I’ll... I’ll never come back. I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“August,” you sighed, closing your eyes. You couldn’t stand to be under his gaze any longer.

“Yes?” His tone was hopeful, eager.

You opened your mouth before you fully knew what you would say--I missed you too? Get the hell out of my apartment? Take me over your knee right now? But you never got the chance to find out. Before any words could leave your mouth you both were silenced by the loudest stomach growl you’d ever heard. You frowned, looking between him and his stomach. The blush that crept onto his face told you that you hadn’t imagined the sound.

“When was the last time you ate?” You questioned, your maternal instincts winning out over the anger and lust burning inside you.

August didn’t care of himself. He only allowed himself the basest human pleasure when he absolutely needed it. He was like that about everything--food, sleep, warmth, sex even. You wouldn’t be surprised if he said he hadn’t eaten anything at all today.

“I can’t remember,” he admitted.

You scoffed at him. You knew what that meant. It had been at least a day and half since he’d stopped to even stuff a crumb in his mouth. You dragged him to your kitchen.

“You can stay for dinner,” you allowed as you made your way over to the pantry, “and then you’re leaving.”

Because you had all the ingredients for it (and because--though you refused to admit it to yourself--you actually had missed him) you made ratatouille. It had been August’s favorite dish since you’d known him. He hovered over your shoulder as you danced around the kitchen, putting the vegetables and ham together. You finally managed to distract him with an appetizer of warm french rolls and cheese. He was insistent on helping you, though, and you finally sent him off to get a bottle of wine. It was quiet for several minutes as the meal cooked in the oven and you realized only when he came back that August had gone to the store a block away to buy some pinot.

“I have wine here,” you said, watching him scour your cabinets for wine glasses.

“I love you darling, I really do, but your taste in wine is...” He hesitated as he grabbed two glasses and brought them to the island, searching for the right word. “Your taste in wine leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh?” You scoffed. “And you’re so much wiser than me?”

He gave you a look. “I’ve spent the last decade and a half going all over Europe on behalf of my job. I’ve lost count of the amount of wineries I’ve been to, the amount of wine I’ve tasted. I’d say my palette is a little bit more advanced than yours, sweetheart.”

You just rolled your eyes. He was right. And you hated it. He knew more about the world than you ever would and you often found yourself envious of the depth of his worldly knowledge. He’d been to every part of the world and you’ve never been outside of your home state.

He poured some wine for both of you. You took a small sip and felt your tastebuds water. Whatever wine he’d bought--you hadn’t seen the label as he’d poured it, which was probably on purpose--was an explosion of sweetness in your mouth. You savored the aftertaste which tasted strongly of berry.

“I told you I know my wine,” he laughed. He’d watched you as you’d taken your first sip, wanting to gauge your reaction.

You just rolled your eyes and watched him as he took a small sip himself. A drop of the wine caught on the edge of his lip and his tongue flicked out to lick it up. Your gaze locked on his mouth, on that tongue, and suddenly your body was engulfed in heat as you remembered how that tongue felt on your skin--

The oven beeped. You jumped and lost your train of thought. It took mental effort to force the blush on your face to fade. August once again hovered over you as you pulled the food out and set it on the stove.

“That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelt,” he sighed, his voice right behind you.

“You may know your wine, August Walker, but I know how to cook.”

...

August’s plate was clear in less than a minute. After you’d lied and convinced him you weren’t hungry, he ate half of your plate, too. You couldn’t help it: you liked watching him eat. Admittedly, you knew it was strange. But he satisfied his body’s cravings and needs so rarely, held onto his self-control for so long, that it was a true sight to watch him give in.

Once he’d finished the food, he carried the dishes to your tiny sink and began washing them. Now it was your turn to be insistent in helping. He finally gave in when you used the tactic of pure logic--if you wash and I dry, we’ll be done in two minutes, you’d reasoned. He reluctantly agreed. You two fell into a silent rhythm for no longer than two minutes--just as you’d predicted. He rinsed his hands off when he was done.

That was when you noticed it.

The scar.

August Walker had worked for the CIA for years. You didn’t know exactly what he did (he was never allowed to share specifics) but you knew it was dangerous. He had scars all over his body. You’d seen them all. So you were used to the sight of him being covered in thick, pale scar tissue all over--but this scar was different.

You reached for his wrist and pulled it closer to you, moving too fast for him to stop you. You ran your thumb over the length of it. The scarring ran from the inside of his wrist to just a few inches below the inside of his elbow. The scar was straight and even. This cut had been made on purpose.

Tears were in your eyes when you looked back at him. “Tell me...” Your voice shook at the knot in your throat. “Tell me you didn’t do this to yourself. Tell me this was someone else--tell me you didn’t...” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The mere thought of it was unbearable.

“I did it,” he admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“Oh!” You clasped a hand over your mouth as you began to cry. You didn’t want to picture it. The thought of him in that much pain...

He wiped the tears that slipped down your face. His blue eyes watched you, pained, as you continued to cry. “I did this to myself, yes, but I didn’t want to die. I’ve never been suicidal. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It took you a while to calm down even after his proclamation. But finally you managed to say, “Tell me.”

“You know I can’t--”

“Fuck the rules, fuck the secrets!” you exclaimed. “Tell me why the hell you cut your wrist open if you didn’t actually want to kill yourself.”

He hesitated, but one look in your eyes told him that you weren’t going to let this go. So he sighed and said, “I got kidnapped by some people. They tortured me for information. I knew eventually they would break me down. So I cut my wrist.”

“You wanted to die before they could get any information out of you,” you realized.

He nodded curtly.

You looked him deep in the eye as you said, “If you ever die, August, I’ll kill you.”

He smiled faintly. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were still sad at the sight of you in pain. You rested your forehead against his chest and breathed him in. Though he’d hurt you time and again, you loved him. The thought of him gone from this earth...

You pulled back and kissed him. It wasn’t rough and quick and needy, but rather slow and full of love. You wanted to show him how much he mattered to you, even after all this time.

“You don’t get to die on me, August Walker,” you whispered against his lips.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling him flush against his wide chest as he kissed you back just as intensely and full of love. “I’ll do my best.” After a moment he added, “how drunk are you?”

“Why?” you asked with a nervous laugh. You hadn’t expected the change in subject.

“Because I don’t want to feel guilty about fucking you tonight,” he said bluntly.

Your cheeks burned at his words, at the images they brought to life in your mind... “I’m drunk enough to let you fuck me, but not too drunk you should feel guilty about it.”

He smiled against your mouth. “That’s the perfect amount.”

...

THERE WILL BE A PART 2 (this time with smut)

[goksiiiiii]

Fake Blondie changed my life - Zabdiel De Jesús

Note: This is my first imagine ever, and first time I am actually trying to write something like this. I hope it is not too bad. I am sorry for all my mistakes but I hope you understand because ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

The life has never been easy. I mean, how can it been easy for a girl who doubts her worth and hates herself every day more and more? It hasn't always been like that, you were a happy child, full of energy and love for life. Unfortunately, you just didn't have luck, you bumped into wrong people, the ones that broke you. "You are actually so ugly, I mean look at your body, not only that you don't have boobs but neither do you have ass, you are so fucking flat, nobody would even fuck you and let's not talk about possibilty that someone would fall in love with you." were the words you would often hear, just in different ways. Sometimes you would hear it from your "friends", family and exes who left you after they didn't get what they wanted. It is not that you haven't been a strong girl, it has just become too much to handle. You would always wonder how they couldn't understand that you didn't have an opportunity to choose the way you would look like. It doesn't even matter because we all can be loved the way God made us.

You have moved to Miami, you were hoping for a better life. When you thought about better life you didn't mean having hookups and fucking every night different boy, no, the better life for you meant FREEDOM. You were hoping that you will be FREE, that you will be YOURSELF, you were hoping that nobody would judge you and make you feel even more shitty, if that was possible.

You got a job to work as a fashion designer for a latin boy band CNCO. It was your dream to work as a fashion designer because you have been so creative since you were very little. You were from Europe so you didn't have an opportunity to hear about them earlier. You started exploring things about them, not because you were interested in them, but because you wanted to see how they like to dress so that you can do your job well and make everyone happy. Sometimes, it seems like all you ever cared for was to make people around you happy. You have always put yourself last. It never crossed your mind that handsome boys like them would even notice you. Everyone wanted them and nobody ever wanted you, because at the end of the day you were just a flat girl. At least that's what you thought.

"I heard we will have new fashion designer" Zabdiel stated. "Oh dios mio, really?" Erick asked curiously "I really hope that we will finally be dressed up like our bodies deserve." "Carla said she will be here soon, so I will go outside to wait for her so she doesn't get lost" Richard tells the boys while heading towards exit. "It is a girl?" Christopher immediately stops playing Fortnite. "I guess, but you know, you don't need to flirt with every girl in the wolrd" Joel rolls his eyes at Chris. "Ay papa, you need to wake up man, la vida es solo una" Chris tells Joel while having a big smile on his face.

You enter the building but you don't see anyone. You try to stay as calm as you can, not allowing your anxiety to come in and ruin your dreams. As you start walking up the stairs, you bump into someone and fall down. "Oh my God are you okay?" Richard asks you worriedly "I- I- am so sorry, I was looking for our new dresser and I was in a hurry, I didn't want her to get lost." he says while helping you to get up. "In that case, I won't give you the worst clothes, I will save them for other memebers who misbehave" you tell him smiling a little. "Oh- are you-" you cut him saying "Yes. That's me" "God, I am such an idiot nena, sorry." Richard says facepalming "I almost made you break your leg on your first day." You both laugh "No need to worry, I know to be clumsy." "I am Richard and thank you for taking it easy on me and not ruining my fashion model career because of this." "I am Y/N, and don't worry, you still need to earn my trust." you said jokingly while Richard shakes head "Trust me other boys are more problematic than me, let me introduce you to them."

Richard was really nice and kind to you and you were yourself joking a bit with him, but then you remembered that you don't want to get attached to anyone. Who the hell knows what's behind that charimng smile Richard has. You don't want new friends who will hurt you at the end or even worse you don't want a boyfriend. You don't trust anyone anymore so you decided to stay as distant as you could with all the memebers from CNCO. But then you slightly shook your head and thought to yourself "Like anyone would want you anyways." A really loud and excited voice stopped you from overthinking "Oh, mamita welcome, soy Christopher, ma mas sexy of them all" he smiles at you and at that moment you wish you had his confidence.

"I am Y/N, nice to meet you." you simply say with a small smile on your face. Erick and his ugly shirt caught your attention next. "Okay you seriously need help with that." you say looking at Erick from top to the bottom. "Omg that hurts." Erick tells you while pretending to wipe a tear. He had extremly beautiful eyes and you knew it will be hard to stop staring at them. "It will be alright, no llores." you say patting Erick's back. "What's up with others? You ain't going to introduce yourselfs?" a beautiful blondie spoke up while walking towards you. "She knows me already because I almost killed her." Richard defends himself. Zabdiel gives him a confused look but decides to focus on you "Okay so, the boy who tried to kill you is Richard, the least sexy guy in here is Christopher-" "Ay papa, why so mean to me?" Chris squeals while pretending to be crying with Erick. "Oh God with who I am working." you chuckle and shake your head. Zabdiel smiles so softly at you which almost causes you to blush but you don't because you know the smile isn't for you, he is just being kind and polite, your mind tells you. "The boy who needs your help with style is Erick, the quiet one eating french fries is Joel and I am Zabdiel." he finishes introducing. "I am not quiet, I just thought she knew us." this time Joel defends himself. "I am from Europe and unfortunately Latin music is not on the big level there" you state. "Anyways I am really glad I have an opportunity to work with you guys, I know you have a concert in 3 days so we can start looking for stuff that you will wear." "Ay nena, relajate, you have time." Chris says while putting his arm around your shoulder. "You didn't tell us anything about yourself." You try your best to be kind to the boys but you were scared you will end up being hurt again. "Look, I am here to work, not to hang out with you, so please just call me when you are ready to work with me and to make an idiot of me." You exclaimed while walking out of the room. The boys look at each other in shock. "What's up with her?" Christopher asks. "No clue, but that was weird." Erick adds. "Don't be rude. We don't know her story." Zabdiel tells them. It seems like Zabdiel was the only one to notice, you are still healing your wounds.

You came to your apartment and just locked the door and threw yourself on the bed overthinking how you reacted to the boys. You knew you were so rude and that they didn't deserve it at all but you couldn't help it. You wanted to protect yourself and you thought it was a good way. But was it really? Even thought it was pretty early to sleep, it was 8pm, you just wanted to fall asleep and forget about everything. Suddenly, as your eyes start to close, you hear a bell ringing. You aren't getting up, hoping that whoever the hell it is will be gone. "Come on Y/N, we know you are in." you hear Chris' voice. "Open up please" Joel begs. You get up to open the door surprised with the fact that they found out where you live. "What the hell are you guys doing? I am trying to sleep." you say. "Sleep? At 8pm on Saturday night? Erick asks seriously. "Yea?" you state simply. "Can we come in and talk? Please." Zabdiel looks into your eyes. You quickly look away and walk away leaving the door open. The boys take that as a yes and slowly walk in.

"I have brought lots of snacks and drinks!" Richard says pointing at paper bags "We are going to make you a welcome party." You just got back into your bed and covered yourself with a blanket. "Yea, you guys have fun, just please don't break anything I literally moved in this morning." you tell them closing your eyes. "I knew that this was bad idea, we should give her time." Joel whispers to Zabdiel. "Yes, we shouldn't force her to open up, if she is not comfortable with us Zab." Erick agrees with Joel. "What, is it blame Zabdiel day or what? We haven't even tried to make her feel comfortable with us! How can she feel comfortable when there is Christopher who just comes in front of her and says "Yo I am the sexiest." I mean stop complaining and try your best to help her feel okay. She is going to be with us now every day." Zabdiel exclaimed. "Did you fall for her in like 2 hours or what?" Chris asks him with a smirk on his face. "Can you be serious at least for 1 minute? It is not always about flirting and fucking. You sometimes need to help people." Zabdiel tells him while shaking his head. "She was really happy when I bumped into her, she was so chill and I loved her humor, idk what happened later." Rich says while taking a sip of his favourite drink. Chris comes closer to you grabbing whipped cream while whispering to you slowly. "If you don't want to come to our party.... party will come to you." Chris says while spraying whipped cream all over your face and running away from you. "Christopher Damn Velez!" you shouted at him while jumping out of the bed to get your revenge but then Erick grabs you by your waist and stops you. "Run bro, run bro! I got you" Erick yells. "Erick, let me go rn or you will have an ugly style forever!" you tell him. "Y/N don't do that to me..." Erick says making a puppy face. "I am warning you!!!" you say acting seriously. Erick looks carefully at Zab coming slowly behind him and let you in his arms. "You have nothing to blackmail me with." Zab wishpers in your ear while wrapping his arms around your waist. Your body shivers at his touch and you get gooseboomps from his breath on your neck. You don't know why, but it just happens. Seems like your body was giving you signs and trying to tell you "He is the one." "Zabdiel..." you managed to say something. "You either let us introduce ourselves in real light and have good time with us or..." "Or what?" you ask "This." not even finishing the sentence he started tickling you. "N-no, n-no Zabdiel!" you exclaimed while laughing. "Stop, stop please!" you begged while tears were rolling down your face from laughing. But he didn't plan to stop, he was just tickling you even more intensively. "Then promise..." Zabdiel orders. "O-okay, te lo prometo!" you say breathing heavily. "Omg, you are such an idiot!" you tell him while throwing a pillow at him. Zabdiel didn't care about you wanting to kill him at the moment, he just knew his heart was happy because he made you smile. And if his heart and emotions could talk at that moment. They would say it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

"So it is sleepover then?" Joel asks. "It is." you roll your eyes playfully. "I even got stuffed animals!" Richard tells you and burst into laughter. "Omg you guys are so sweet." "OH DIOS, chicos this is our first compliment!" Chris claps his hands in excitement and everyone else make sarcastic shocked faces which causes you to laugh even more. They all light up candles and ties up balloons trying to make this interesting as much as they could. But also, they were making sure that you are comfortable and fine with everything they were doing. Zabdiel makes comfy place for you to sit next to him. "Come here." he tells you while patting the seat next to him. "No, I am still mad at you." you say trying not to laugh. "Ik how to make this even." Erick says while spraying whipped cream all ove Zabdiel's hair. "NOT THE HAIR!" Zabdiel screams. Christopher started laughing so much which made you burst into tears of laughter because his laugh was the most contagious laugh in the world. They all kept making mess throwing food at each other. "You all are going to clean this I swear." you say looking at the mess they made. "We are going to sing to you now. We will make you forget about all bad things we have done!" Joel says while smiling softly. "Oh hell no, I bet you all suck..." you say teasing them. Zabdiel raises his eyebrows at you, and you felt like your heart was just going to melt. And you were right. Erick starts slowly playing "Tu Luz" on guitar he brought here.

"Dime tú, cómo hago para captar tu atención

Sé muy bien, que en el pasado

Te han roto el corazón"

Zabdiel sings to you while tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. He sang with so much passion, and that, together with the meaning of the lyrcis, made you get so emotional.

"Abrázame fuerte y no tengas miedo amor

Déjame explicarte..." Chris starts singing to you and his harmonies were already bringing the death to you.

"Quiero ser el que llena de felicidad

Cada espacio de soledad

Déjame ser tu luz"

they all sing together and you couldn't help it with all the emotions and their beautiful voices. "I- I- am sorry, I will be right back." you say with a low voice while crying your eyes out you run to the bathroom.

Everyone look at each other worriedly. "Zab go with her." Joel tells him. "Go see if she is okay." Richard adds. You sit down on the cold bathroom tiles leaning in the wall. You remember all the things people did to hurt you and the way Zabdiel sang to you "I know very well that in the past they have broken your heart." made you think avout all the times people came into your life to waste a couple of months and then leave you when they didn't get what they wanted. "Y/N.. please open the door." Zabdiel says while knocking on your bathroom door. You couldn't even hear him because you were overwhelmed with so many emotions at that moment and you felt like panick attack would get you soon. You try to calm down yourself but you just keep shaking and sobbing even more not realizing how loud you were getting. Once Zabdiel hears you his heart starts beating so fast "Y/N I don't care I am coming in." he tells you while opening the door. He sees you sitting down trying to calm your breathing down. Zabdiel doesn't say anything he just knees down to you and pulls you into his chest hugging you tightly. "Y/N, I am here, you are okay." Once he wrapps his arms around you body your heart starts slowly to get back in normal rhythm. He genlty grabs your face in his hand making you look at him. "Nena, it is okay, I am here, you are safe, no one is going to hurt you." he tells you looking deep into your eyes. You just nod slowly at him and hugs him tightly. You didn't know why you did that, but the only thing you knew at that moment was that you felt so safe in his arms.

After a few minutes of silence but comfortable one, you spoke up. "I am so sorry for causing such a scene in front of you and the boys." you say playing with your fingers. "I have never wanted to be rude just-" "Just you are scared to let us in your life for some reason?" Zabdiel cuts you off "You don't have to apologize for anything nena. I know how ew people can be, and how they can turn your mind against you." he tells you. "Just.. you have no idea how much I hate myself and everything about me.. I- I- don't even know why you guys want to hang out with a girl like me." you tell him while wipping your tears away." Zabdiel puts his hand on yours making sure you are okay with it. "There is absoultely nothing in you or on you that you should hate." Zab says simply. "If me and guys hadn't felt and seen that you were such a nice girl and such a great person we wouldn't even bother coming here." "I know you have every right to think I can be just some another lie, but this is me looking you right in the eyes now and promising you that we are here to protect you. I am here for anything you need. If you want to rant, go on I will listen, If you want advice I will try my best to give you great one. I am here for anything you need. Just give us a chance and we will prove to you that you can count on us." Zabdiel tells you not taking his eyes off of you. You smile at him and deep inside your heart feels that he is honest but your mind tells you to be careful. "Muchas gracias Zab, I will try my best but I hope you understand I will need time." you tell him not noticing your thumb was slighty stroking his hand. "Vale niña, we will be waiting for you. You will work with us every day, you need to get close to us sooner or later." he smiles and purposely bumps his shoulder with yours. "Now go shower, relajate and go to sleep. You need rest." You nod at him while he leaves the bathroom. Zabdiel tells his bandmates what happened and they all gave a promise that will do their best to make you feel good with them. "Can't sleep Zab?" Chris slowly whispers. "Nah." Zab replies. "You thinking about Y/N?" Chris asks. "All I know Chris is that I want to make her be able to smile without being afraid to." Zab tells Chris. "And I am sure, you will bro." Chris tells him being so confident about his words. In the morning, boys got up early to clean the mess they had made. You woke up hearing Chris' laughing about God knows what. "Ohhh, buenos dias sleeping beauty." Richard tells you. "What are guys doing?" you ask. "Nada we took a day off to help you clean." Joel answers you. "Omg, why would you that? I could do it, I was just joking last night." you tell them. "Shhh!" Erick tells you "Less talk, more work!" Erick says grabbing a brush and paint in his hands. "Are you guys like going to paint my apartment?" you ask worriedly. "Yup this place is really ugly and you need to start fresh here soo..." Erick tells you while throwing a brush at you. "Vamos a trabajo!" You just look at them in disbelief and shake your head.

"Let's start from the top." Zab says. "You know not everyone has your height." you tell him playfully rolling your eyes. Zab bends down and picks you up so you can sit on your shoulder. "What about now?" he asks. "Omg you are such an idiot." you smile. Zabdiel was happy because he was making you smile. He really liked having you close to him. "Zabdiel, bro, you have been painting the same sport for 2 minutes now, are you okay?" Chris asks while moving hand in front of his eyes. "Um- yea yea, I am fine, I was just thinking about something." Zab defends himself. You decided to distract him from his thoughts so you put a bit of blue paint on his nose. "Ohhh.... my bad, lo siento." you tell Zabdiel. "Excuse me? What was that for?" he asks while having a big smile on his face. "Nothing, it was an accident." you say trying to stop yourself from laughing. "Oh?" Zab says while putting a paint on your thigh. "This was also an accident." he casually tells you. "Zabdiel! Don't do that" you scream at the feeling of cold paint. "Do what?" he acts innocently. You use your brush and this time paint his hair. "Here, it is better, I didn't like blonde anyways." you say. "Oh my God, oh my God, you are so bad." he says while bringing you down and pushing you to the wall. Zabdiel starts moving his hair on your face. "Zabdiel! Detener!" you yell at him while laughing so much. "Oh, I love this new look of you." he says while smirking at you. "I swear you will stay bald." you try to seriously tell him. "Nah, my stylist won't let it happen to me." he says looking deep into your eyes. "Oh really? We will see." you tell him. Zabdiel's heart was beating fast and his breathing was getting heavier. He wished nothing more than to press his lips against your. He was trying to refrain especially because of the deep talk you two had last night. "I swear I dropped my ring in here-" Richard enters the room looking for the ring he lost. Chris notices you two being close to each other pressed against the wall. "We are sorry!" Chris tells you two while grabbing Richard's hand and dragging him out of the room. "Um, let's get cleaned." Zab says trying to ease the tension. "Vale." you tell him kinda thankful for Richard and Chris entering the room because you felt like if Zabdiel wasn't going to kiss you, you would do it instead. After you and boys finished painting they decided to go out with you to show you Miami a bit. "I swear Erick just kept eating the whole day, he hadn't painted anything." Joel complained. "OMG bro stop lying." Erick tells him. "This man is a liaaaar, this man is a liaa a a a r" Richard starts singing. "Madre mia, are you guys this childish every day?" you ask curiously. "What is it supposed to mean?" Chris asks while crossing arms like a kid. "Nada." you say giving up. "Nah, I swear we are normal." Zabdiel says. "Pff, yes especially you." you tell him while looking at the sunset on the beach. Other boys went to grab something to eat while Zabdiel told them he is not hungry and that he will stay with you. As you were enjoying the feeling of walking barefoot on the wet sand you see your ex friend. Well, more like ex friend with benefits. "Y/N?" Marco says. "Is that you?" he says coming close to you. "Um- yeah hi." you tell him smiling awkwardly. Marco was your friend in highschool. You guys would always have such a great time together. He was so sweet to you and whenever someone bothered you he would try to make you forget about it giving you the best pleasure ever. He was simply good in the bed. That lasted until everyone discovered you two were fucking. After they found out, people started teasing him how he couldn't find a better bitch to fuck and then he threw you away like a garbage. "Omg I haven't seen you for ages!" he says. "Who is this?" he asks pointing at Zabdiel. "He is a friend." you tell him. "With benefits? New one? Is he better than me?" Marco kept asking dumb questions which embarassed you so much. You didn't want Zabdiel to think you were just another girl wanting to fuck every second boy.

You were a teenager and at that time, that was the only way for you to escape the reality. "No Marco!" you yell. "That's in the past, I am not a kid anymore and I am not wasting my time on it. I am actually trying to find someone who is worth to love and not just to fuck. I am trying to have a normal life. Maybe you should do it too." you tell him while grabbing Zabdiel's hand and walking away from him. "Yeah good luck with that, hole is hole for every boy no matter how ugly you are." Marco shouts. Zabdiel was going to run after your ex friend but you stopped him. "I am so sorry about that." you tell Zab completely embarassed. "It is fine." he says. "But what's not fine is the way he was talking to you. It is so disgusting. I am literally disgusted with all males." Zabdiel tells you. "Dw about it, I am really used to it." you sigh. "No, damn it, you are the most chill and beautiful girl I have ever seen. And I don't even care what you say but I don't know what is better about you, how hot and beautiful you look or your incredible personality." he tells you speaking so quickly. Zabdiel couldn't handle this all and before you got a chance to answer him he asks "Is he your type?" You look at him confused but answering anyways. "No, honestly I don't know even who is my type. They all end up hurting and breaking me at the end." you say looking at the sea. "I don't want you to think I am girl like that, you know, just looking for someone to have sex with for one night-" "No, Y/N I know you are not." Zabdiel simply says. "I know you are much more than that." "Thank you Zab." you tell him smiling a little. "So let's say, a Puerto rican, 22 years old, fake blondie wanted to be your type, what would you say?" he asks you looking at your hands on your lap. This time, both your mind and heart were telling you that he was the one. The right one. "I love fake blondies." you tell him biting your lip trying not to smile so much. Zabdiel quickly moves his head up to look at you smiling so much. "So this fake blondie wants to ask you if you could give us a try?" he says. You nod at him putting a hand on his cheek slowly stroking it with your thumb. Zabdiel puts his forehead on yours and slowly moves his lips to yours, kissing you softly and passionately. "I will make you happy nena, I promise you." he tells you pulling away and bringing your hand next to his heart. "You have already done it, you have changed my life for such a little time." you tell him smiling for the first time without being afraid that you will end up being hurt. "LENGUA KISS! WE WANT LENGUA KISS!" boys shout while running to hug you both. The moment Zabdiel hears their voices, he knows whats is comping up, so he quickly grabs your hand and make you two run into the water of calm ocean.

He changed your life. He made you feel like a queen. His queen.

Sometimes you need to go through a lot of pain and experience awful things to be happy. "You will be happy" said life "but first I will make you strong."

Thank you for reading!:)

Please message me and tell me what do you think about my first work ever. Ly xx

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 20

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19

Happy New Year!!!!!! Here’s a party and a hot guy loving on you - and you don’t even have to leave your home ;)

I haven’t been to many therapist offices after I started high school. This one was free, on student-life. Reproduced images of the sea were comforting enough, but it was the dreary stained carpet that reminded me where I was. 

“Do you think they’re related to the night you were assaulted?” 

“Yes. But I don’t know how to get rid of them. I lose sleep and then when I do sleep, I have these nightmares and I wake up more restless than if I’d just stayed up all night.” 

 “Hm. And how do you feel about Harry?” 

 “Harry?” 

 She nodded. “Yes, the boy in your dreams.” Her French manicured nails squeezed the top of her clipboard.

 “That’s not an easy question.” 

 “Try.” 

 I sighed. “Okay…” The painted seagull in her office looked like an on-clearance print at TJ Maxx, and suddenly I wished I’d called my mother for her own version of therapy instead. Bargain shopping. “I think I hate him. But then I know I don’t. But then… I don’t necessarily like him either.” 

 “Do you love him?” 

I laughed. “No, I don’t love him.”

 “Why do you laugh?”

 “I said I almost hated him and you ask me if I love him!” But my voice was a little too loud. The question stayed with me, stirring in my mind. “I think I’d know if I loved him.” 

 “Love looks different to different people. Finding a healthy version of love for yourself and your partner is where things can go awry. Or right.” 

 I remembered Harry and I talking at Alta about Madame Bovary, and how I’d told him that people love to the best of their abilities, from what they’ve learnt by their circumstances. Silence weighed in the room, and I knew she was waiting for me to elaborate on my feelings. Bleh.

 “I don’t know,” I finally said. “But if this is what love looks like to him… We’re not even technically dating so this question doesn’t even apply!” I laughed again. “But then… even if we were, then...  it’s not enough.” 

 “And what would be enough for you?”

 “Stability.” 

 “And do you think this is possible with him?” 

 “Umm…” Zayn’s voice popped in my head - Harry was a magnet for infamy - and I laughed. I laughed, and I laughed...“No.”

 “And why is that?” 

 “Because he self-sabotages. And he says things he doesn’t mean.” 

 “Such as...?”

 A puff of breath left my lips. “Like last night, he said I didn’t have a life. And then he was comparing me to another girl. Viv. She’s like his… sister, basically. She grew up with him. But… he got really defensive and said at least she fucks me. But the fact that he said I don’t have a life?? A LIFE?? I mean shit, it’s not my fault he’s infiltrated my dreams is it?” 

 She shook her head. “It’s very important for you not to blame yourself. Show yourself the same kindness you’d show your friends. Renny, for example.” 

 Be kind to yourself. 

 I nodded. Those were the words my mother would say whenever I’d critique myself. Just like all those times before, the words registered, but it didn’t change anything about the frustration I felt. I was the one dumb enough to let him in. I’d let myself be dragged into him, even with every red flag hitting me in the face. I was collecting them for a meme bouquet at this point!

 “Do you believe him?” she asked. 

 It took me a minute to hear her. 

 “The words he said to you,” she said. “That you don’t have a life.” 

 A timer beeped on her phone. She muted it. “I’d like you to write out what you want in your life for next time. Not what anybody else wants. But what Y/N wants. When you see it written out, no matter how silly it seems, having concrete answers might help.”

 --------------

 I was staring at my notes page, trying to think of what I wanted. I didn’t exactly have the chance to ask her what she meant by that. Did she mean career goals? Education goals? Relationship goals? What did this have to do with ending my nightmares? 

 A text at the top of my phone distracted me from the blank page. 

 Kiki: “Don’t worry, we didn’t forget about you. Get your hands on the special airhead pills from Harry’s and bring them to the DG Pretty Please Party next week. On the DL obvi.”  

Viv chimed in on the group chat. “Congrats bitch! It’ll be fun for all of us.” She included the devil emoji. 

 This is what I got for stalling up until the last minute to walk into work. The practice was now a blatant reminder that Harry was out of my life and it didn’t help whenever I saw Lionel. It felt weird that I was seeing his dad more than him. Wrong, even. 

 Voices carried through the lot along with the clicking of heels. I turned my head. 

 Boss Lady Samantha was headed towards the elevator. 

 Shit, Y/N. Shit shit shit.

 I got out, quietly closing the door. Better to walk with my boss than walk in late after her, right? Her red hair was let down today, ringlet curls in full effect. I could meet her at the elevator before it arrived.

 But right when I was about to shout out hold the elevator Lionel walked right behind her. And I mean RIGHT behind her - there was hardly room for a Bible between them. 

 I hid behind my car, unsure if I was supposed to be seeing this. 

 Their voices were too low to hear, but his arm lingered at her lower back before the elevator opened. She got in. Alone. Lionel looked over his shoulder and I ducked further. 

 Through Grandpa’s windows, I saw the elevator door close. Lionel waved goodbye to Samantha and he pressed the button again. 

 Before chickening out, my shoulders straightened. I shouldn’t have to be the one hiding. I jogged to make it. His brows shot up in surprise as he held the elevator for me. The kindness I’d gotten used to seeing in his eyes looked hesitant this time. 

 “A little late today?” he asked, as soon as I’d made it in. 

 I avoided his eyes, nodded.  It was a quiet elevator ride. 

 ------------

 My family’s house was a ten minute drive from the practice. Enough drive time to sit on what I’d seen outside Coast Shores Medicine. It could’ve been friendly. I didn’t have to do anything about this. But in my bones, I knew that friendly isn’t what I’d seen. Lionel avoided me the rest of the day, assigning me to print out billing statements. I hadn’t seen them make out or anything, but there was a certain intimacy I couldn’t write off right away. Did Mrs. de Saude know about his close work relationships? Did Harry? 

 The sickening uneasiness dissipated when I heard my parent’s Home Improvement HGTV hour. Dad was already passed out on the couch, snoring at a whopping 8 PM when I walked through the door. Ignoring Mom’s tutting of “they keep you too late,” we went to my bedroom. 

 “Pick the nude ones,” Mom said, adjusting the spectacles she only pulled out on rare occasions (magazine reading and shoe selections). “It makes your legs look longer.” It looked like there was something more she wanted to say. 

 I adjusted them in the mirror, wearing the blush dress I’d bought for my aunt’s beach wedding almost a year prior. It’d never been worn. Her Spanish fiancé she’d met three months prior stole her TV set and ran off with his gay lover a week before. As I stood, the dress just barely touched the floor. Simple, really, but the way the thin straps exposed my chest rendered it elegant. I felt like I needed a long cigarette and fur coat to make it complete.  

 Without context, Mother suddenly burst into an annoyed huff. 

 “You okay?” I asked.

 “Hm?” Her lashes fluttered as if she hadn’t realized she’d made a noise. “Oh, yes. I’m fine. Your father just took another one of those sleeping pills. You should never get too dependent on medication, Y/N. Drink warm milk or something.”

 “Mom.”

 “I’m serious!” Her stony face certainly wasn’t comical. 

 “I know.”

 She looked me over in the dress again and caught herself, pulling me in for a rushed hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. She rocked me a little. “It’s just been a little rough this week.” She squeezed me tighter, then let me go. All negative energy shoved into a box that’d spring open when we all least expected it. “Have a good night tonight. Say hello to Harry for me!”

 When I walked to the car she threw out, “And tell him next time he can ask you with a Cartier ring! HA! I’m joking!! ... Kind of!!!” 

 I smiled, waving to her at the gate as I got into my Grandpa mobile. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Golden Boy wasn’t my date.  

 ---------

There were two cops for every solo cup I could see littered on the ground. They patrolled the streets, but the frat house seemed unphased and restored to its former glory as I walked with Andre. Club music pounded beyond the doors, practically shaking the windows. Girls huddled up outside, holding each other’s hair back and trying to block anyone’s view from the bile, as the guys snickered over their shoulders and some pretended not to see. But the cops weren’t here to reprimand for underage drinking and public intoxication tonight. They were on watch. Stationed around the perimeter of the house and on either end of the street. 

 They were waiting for something else. For somebody else. 

 Andre seemed oblivious, practically skipping past them he was so excited. I, on the other hand, was already limping from the nude pumps. 

 “Wanna switch shoes?” he called back. 

 “Don’t make a deal you aren’t willing to keep,” I smiled, quirking a brow. “The nude would actually match your navy suit…”

 He’d already walked on, fist bumping the bouncer who raised up a professional-grade camera and snapped a photo of us. When my eyes recovered from the flash, I spotted Officer Ramirez from the uniforms just beyond the frat’s ramshackle fence. He was already watching me. He raised two fingers above his brow and I nodded, curtly, even though I wanted to shrink inside myself. I hadn’t had the time to think about what I would say if he contacted me again, or if I should be the one to reach out to him.

 Andre led me inside, and for once, I was glad I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. It raised ten degrees just from stepping inside. The boys were in Bond suits, but most had abandoned their jackets wherever they could - on the banister, the couch beneath the staircase, or the entrance hall. The girls had dressed up, too. This was the most covered up I think I’d seen some of them, though others still opted for above-the-knee slips.

 “Oi, where’s your drink?!” Niall’s familiar voice shouted above the bass.

 He pulled Andre into a side hug before we reached the dancefloor. When he saw me, Niall practically fell over. 

 “Y/N! What’re you doing here?” He spluttered, whiskey in his breath. The knot of his tie was already to his chest, but he loosened it even more. He looked over his shoulder, then back to me. “Renny’s just gone to the bathroom.” 

 “She’s my date,” Andre stepped in, placing an arm around my shoulder. It was completely platonic but Niall’s face went to stone. 

 Suddenly it cracked, and he laughed, running a hand over his stubbly chin. “Oh, shit.” He laughed again. “Shit!” 

 Andre smiled, unaware of anything else besides the fact that Niall must be proud he showed up with a date. He patted Niall’s shoulder. “We’re going to see the big bro, I’ll find you later.” Andre nodded his head for me to follow, leaving Niall cackling to himself in the entranceway.

 “Niall’s THE. MAN,” he put his hands up for emphasis. “He’s my favorite in the house besides my big. We gotta say hi, then you can run off. Oh, Renny’s here too!” He squeezed my shoulders as if to excite me, as if she’d be the reason I’d stay. Loved the girl, but I knew she’d be back on top of Niall five minutes after she was out. I just didn’t want to have to watch. 

 I wrung my hands together, growing nervous. I knew the reason Niall had reacted that way was because Harry was going to be here. I knew this coming into it. But I’d been expecting him to ignore me the entire night. With Niall’s reaction, I wasn’t so sure anymore. What had Harry told Niall?

 Someone sloshed their beer on me as I passed, and I turned sour, rolling my eyes as Andre pushed us forward. I picked up the pace before he could notice I’d stopped and wiped the glare off my face. Or, tried. I probably just looked constipated now. 

 WHY WAS HIDING EMOTION SO HARD?? 

 I felt bad feeling so annoyed. Andre was excited. I should be excited, right? Sloshed beer and sweaty bodies came with the territory. Though I’d forgotten how humid it got in here. Hell and Florida were probably cooler. I picked up the ends of my dress, hoping for some sort of ventilation to reach parts of me that were on the verge of overheating. 

 The coffee tables and couches had been moved from the center of the living room to the fringes beneath the stairwell to make designated smoking and dancing sections. I could’ve stayed on the outside of the dance crowd. Hell, I could’ve joined the spaced-out smokers on the couch. But I didn’t. I followed Andre to the middle of the dance floor. I could barely see above the tops of people’s heads until we reached a bit of a clearing. And by clearing, I meant the sweaty dancers in front of us who made a break for freedom and gave us about ten seconds of space before other bodies rushed to fill it. 

 I felt him before I saw him. A tiny prick of consciousness that directed my gaze. And Andre’s finger.

 “AYYYY!!!!!” Andre pointed to the DJ booth, waving his hands as he hollered.

 Even with the rocking vibration of the bass that chattered my teeth, each nerve in my body went alert. Harry stood, flashing a white smile to the crowd before downing the rest of whatever potion was in his cup. I hated how my stomach clenched just by seeing him. He saw Andre and his smile grew, grabbing the mic. I was still unnoticed, hidden by dim lighting and nameless peers.

 “Who’s ready for us to win tomorrow!?” His voice was low, demanding. It was a question for the crowd, but he was looking at Andre. I could sense the intensity even there, and it was then I realized it couldn’t be just me who feels so vulnerable around Harry. Each person he traps in his gaze stays there, until he lets them go. 

 The house erupted in cheers, but I was locked in place. The suit he was wearing looked similar to the one from the Halloween gala, and every bit of him looked just as stunning. His beautiful body swayed on the makeshift stage. 

 “Then let’s see you jump in-” His hand held up 5, 4, 3, 2… He spun another song and the crowd sprung from the floor before crashing back down. They jumped to the beat he made. A modern-day puppet master. 

 Andre wrapped an arm around me as he jumped. So I did, too. 

 “That’s my big!!” he yelled, mid-air.

 “WHAT??”

 He pointed to the DJ booth, but there was no one there besides Harry. 

 “.... HARRY??! HARRY’S YOUR- your…” I stopped jumping the same second Harry saw us together. It’s funny. It takes only a second to flip a dime on its head. His party boy mask dropped in an instant. The low lighting turned his eyes black, but they couldn’t conceal the daggers he shot straight at me.

 “I have to use the bathroom,” I muttered. 

 Andre nodded. “S’UP THE STAIRS!” He found a friend nearby and latched on to him instead. 

 The small (okay, medium) part of me filled with nothing but Petty™ wanted Harry to see me with his little. But another part of me couldn’t handle his judgmental glare. Somehow, I was embarrassed. I didn’t want him to think I’d come here tonight to make him jealous. That I was so obsessed with him I’d found another in to the frat. I didn’t want him to think he controlled any part of my heart. What did it say that I ran away at first sight, though?

 I’d already done it. It didn’t matter. Either way, I didn’t win.

 I raced upstairs, weaving my way between couples sitting on the stairs, hoping that the line for the restroom was really long and Renny hadn’t already left. It was, and she was next in line. 

 “Oh my God, what are you doing here?!” she screeched, arms out and eyes squinted until I could no longer see her pupil. 

 “Why do people keep asking me that.” 

 She pulled me into an extra-long, extra-tight Renny hug. “Love yousoooomuch,” she rushed. Her breath smelled like Niall as she pulled away. She lifted the cup to my lips and I shook my head. She frowned. 

 “I talked with Niall,” she said. “He says Harry’s just going” - she hiccupped - “through a lot right now. S’best to leave him alone.” 

 The other girls in line perked up at the mention of his name, subconsciously leaning closer. I huffed. “Trust me. I am.” 

 When three girls stumbled out of the only bathroom stall, Renny rushed in. “Thank God I was about to pee on the carpet.” She tried tugging me in with her, but my eye was on the end of the hall. And the stupid DG pretty please.

 “I’ll be back,” I muttered, squeezing her hand. 

 “Nooooo,” she drawled. 

 I squished her cheeks, checked her pupils. She didn’t need me to hold her hair back this time. I gave her cheek a lil slap.

 “I’ll go with you next time you have to go. Which will be in like... twenty minutes. You broke the seal rookie!” I teased. 

 I didn’t even bother looking over the railing at the party below to see if he was watching me. I still had my DG task and a nonrefundable deposit to think about. I didn’t think I’d get many chances to be in this house again unless I swindled Andre or Niall into letting me in. But that would require an explanation, and I wasn’t sure I could tell them that. 

 Forget explanations. I needed to do it now. Lots of noise. Tons of distractions. I’d just think of it as… borrowing?

 His door was locked and I groaned, kicking it and leaving a smudge beside all the others. I reached for a bobby pin in my purse and put it to work. I’d done it before in his bedroom, I could do it again here. The curve of the hallway protected me from onlookers waiting in line in the bathroom. Downstairs was a mixed bag. People could probably see through the railings running along the top floor. 

 Not that they’d think to look. 

 My knees were starting to hurt by the time I heard it click. I crept in, and for some reason, I expected his room to look different. But it was still the same. Dusty desk across from a queen-sized bed. Only one photograph atop his bedside mantle. And it didn’t smell like sweaty soccer clothes, but clean. With hints of a woodland spice and books. It felt like eons had passed since I was first here, undressing him like the drunken baby he’d been. As an act of betrayal, my body rushed at the thought of how his fingers had looped around my belt loops, tugging me closer. I swallowed, the image of his tightened pants expanding in my head. He’d almost been hard, then. 

 It was then, at that moment, that I decided that the one sip of alcohol I’d had must have been spiked with SOMETHING because I would NOT be that girl. I would NOT. I reFUSED TO LET MYSELF-

 Seconds later, my fingertips grazed his soft gray sheets. He’d been sprawled out right about here, and the rush of seeing unseen skin on Harry had been too intoxicating an offer to refuse. The ghost of that rush flowed through me again as my memory played it over like a movie. Close-ups and panning shots - Down his toned chest to tattoos speckled along tan skin, tattoos that had been seemingly doodles, but now held much more meaning now that I knew of his history with the ocean. For his sister. My body leant down before I knew what I was doing, and I inhaled. The lingering aroma of his body chemistry altering his cologne: musky, a little spice, and warmth.

 Even if every ounce of me wanted to dislike him, the legitimate biology behind my body responded to a chemistry I couldn’t control. 

 “What are you doing?”

 He caught me on my knees, with one hand clutched in the sheets.

 Fuckity FUCK-

 He could whip out PSYCHO magazine informing people of highly-dangerous murderers with my mugshot plastered across the cover - and I’d believe him in that moment. Oh my gosh. Omgomgomg. He didn’t say what I expected him to say when he swayed in, though. 

 “Andre. Really?” He laughed to himself, but it was cold. “Fucking” - he stumbled, leaning on the desk chair to catch himself- “really?” 

 It wasn’t the alcohol that’d put him on edge. I’d seen him handle liquor before, but this time he looked… different. I stood up, realizing his eyes were racking down my dress. I crept towards him, hoping to make it past the door. Not because I was scared of him. But because I was mortified. I’d just looked like an absolute fucking psychopath AND I’d snuck into his bedroom. Maybe I could distract him. Maybe he was too drunk to ask me-

 “What’re you doing here?”

 “What are we… all doing here? At parties?”

 “…in my room,” he clarified.

 Welp. My philosophical question fell flat. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 I waltzed past him, tight-lipped. In defense of my dignity, I still didn’t owe him anything. Not after how he’d treated me. 

 “Hey,” his arm jutted out, blocking my way. His brows crossed as he turned to a petulant boy. “S’rude to not answer.” 

 My blood boiled. “You are not about to give me a lesson on how bad it is to ignore people right now. Nor on being rude.” 

 “Can give you another one.” 

 He reached for me, but I stepped back, somewhat living in the hurt that flashed in his eyes at my rejection. 

 “You’re not leaving.” But his demand sounded like a plead. 

 “Thought you didn’t want me around you,” I scoffed, tearing past him. “Just because you’re drunk or high or whatever the fuck it is you are right now, doesn’t mean you can just… get a free pass! For a week! A whole week of awful-” I turned quickly, too frustrated to find the words. I took a step towards the door but- 

 “Y/N.” He was right behind me. His breath warmed the nape of my neck, the delicate hairs standing on end. No matter how much of an absolute mess he was, my body didn’t know better. I could practically feel him behind me, his presence radiating an alarm that blared through my veins. I wanted him. Badly. He trailed a finger down my arm, and his hand brushed against my own against my side. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

 His fingers gingerly interlaced with mine, turning me around. 

 Something wet was on my cheek. I touched it, quickly rubbing it away in horror. Why were tears running down my face?! What unfair cruelty was this!? He saw my tears and leant down, suddenly defeated, pulling my body with him.

 “Why did’ya ever want me hm?” His nose went along my jaw. Full lips pressed against the base turned my legs weak. There was an underlying desperation to his words though, a prayer in his kiss. But my thoughts were turning anything but holy. 

 “Who says I did…” I wanted to pull away, ask him why he’d used past tense or why he’d completely ignored me this past week, but I was frozen by the softness of his hands. Self-respect was surely slipping away each moment I lingered. I could literally see Jane Austen parting the heavens and sticking her angelic head through Harry’s room to shame me with a glare. I do all this mental work to try and figure this guy out and… for what? I should be waltzing out that door, declaring I’d never talk to him again. I should give up messy and confused and pursue my own sanity. But the air only ever turned electric with him, in all his messiness, in all this confusion… and each time the spark appeared, it pushed us closer together until he was here, like this, soft hands gently running along my lower back, skilled fingertips feeling the dress fall slightly inwards at my waist, tracing a map of uncharted waters… 

 “You’re not thinking straight,” I breathed. And that went for both of us. 

 “Au contraire, I’m thinking clearer than I ever ‘ave.” There was a swirling madness shining through, but he bat his eyes and it was veiled again, vanished beneath the dark surface. He tilted his head, appraising my body, noticing my legs were no longer tensed to run, but in apprehension for another reason completely. A smirk settled in. “Why do you still want me?” he demanded, pulling me against him towards the bed.

 “Arrogant ass,” I sniped, but I landed on him anyway. His fingers tightened around my waist, a hand snaking up behind to entwine with my hair. I felt him harden beneath me as he pulled my head to the side, just the right amount of rough. But he stalled over vulnerable skin, lips ghosting featherlight up to my ear. He let out a soft breath and I clenched in anticipation. For once, I had no thoughts. “You should be with me,” he breathed. “Should be mine.” His voice grew frustrated and he practically growled, lips kissing my neck, steady, before they started to suck in a rhythm. The shock of the sensation masked the shock from his words and my back arched, a spider’s shiver crawling down my spine. He stopped suddenly, shooting back like he’d been shocked. His grip softened ‘round the nape of my neck, and he looked so… confused. “Can’t mark you again,” he noted, despondent. But then the corners of his lips twitched up in a smirk. “Least where it’s visible.” My breath caught. His black ink eyes showed the slightest ring of green. I don’t remember lifting my hand, but fingers trailed along dark circles. These were a new development. I shook my head lightly. Something was wrong. This was wrong. I leant in, resting my head against his. “Harry-” but his lips cut me off before I could mention it. 

 I felt like I’d been feeling his lips everywhere but my own. They were eager, but kept pace, switching it up just when I was getting comfortable, slowing to make me feel the soft fullness of raspberry-pink lips. They were pillows, and clouds, and everything else soft and wonderful that I’d want to feel forever. He slipped in his tongue, deepening the kiss, and I ground my body against him, using his shoulders as leverage. 

 This wasn’t me. But I didn’t care enough to think about ‘who I was’ anymore. What did I want? 

 I felt him pulse between my legs. 

 “Harry,” I bit my lip, and I knew then. I’ve been wanting more, I’ll always want more. I was more aware than ever of an emptiness he could fill. 

 “Been hard ever since I saw you bouncing in that dress,” he said gruffly. “With fucking Andr- ahh...fuck.” I rocked my hips against him in spite, putting a hand over his mouth to shut him up. 

 But his head jutted back and came forward again. He looked at me through hooded eyes, and just like that I was sedated by his gaze, my body pausing. He looked like he was about to scold me. “Do it again.” His voice was low. I stalled, looking at the way his lips barely parted. “Don’t be shy now, Y/N.” My hips replied on command, but rebelliously, slowly, feeling the length of him run between the thin underwear that’d cocooned itself against my ridges and folds. I ran my hips back down against his thigh. “Fu-uhck-” He jutted his hips up, turning something wicked when I moaned. The friction from the dress and pressure from my own body rocking against Harry built a tightly coiled knot I wanted desperately to release. And then we were kissing again. Fervent. Eager. A skilled tongue slipping in to dance with my own. He was rock hard against me. I could feel the full outline pressed tight against his slacks now, creating my own mental map. My hands wrapped in his hair, and I pulled, relaxing our pace, rutting myself up with purpose to rotate in a circle at his clothed tip. The noise from his throat wasn’t human, and I felt heavy and light all at the same time when his thumb dug into my chin just under my lower lip. 

 “Wanna help you,” he rumbled. “Will you let me? Won’t you do that for me?” 

 I nodded, wordlessly, and with both hands tight on my hips, he tugged us further back until he was against the pillows, and me, repositioned above him. He pulled us down and we built a rhythm against his thigh, the determination in his stitched brow as he did half the work making it even sexier. He was almost needier than me. There was an urgency to his strong hands as they hiked up my dress, fingertips dancing around and just beneath the band of my underwear. He didn’t pull it off, just gently pushed my hips up and down, then harder, faster, to the damp patch already on his slacks. I was buzzing, every inch of me, the wound coil growing bigger, tighter, the build of release making my heart race. He stared at me as we moved together.

 “Tha’s it. So good at this,” he mumbled. “So beautiful.” 

 My breath caught, and his wide eyes watched wondrously as I moved frenzied above him. His chest rose, bits of tattoo spilling past the white button-down collar. My hand clutched his shirt as I felt myself begin to peak. This was as intimate as I’ve been with someone, and the pressure of being seen through his eyes like this was a lot of pressure. I didn’t want to think about how many other girls had been in this position before. What he spoke to them, how they looked, what they’ve done, or how recently they’d done it. His hand cupped my face and brought me down, lips claiming me to the point of bruising and silencing voiceless thoughts. The pull of his lips, and the sturdiness of his thigh made me whimper. My swollen bud hit his clothed cock with each surge upwards, his hands guiding me, making sure my breath hitched each time. And each time, I’d feel him tense. Again, and again, just knowing his thick hard cock was against me, right against me, almost…

 “Almost… Harry…” 

 “Y/N,” he rasped. I felt his hot gaze as I shuddered above him. He kissed me, slow, swallowing another whimper as a current of electricity ran from the crown of my head to my toes. His hands helped me ride out my high, slowly coming to a halt. 

 He opened his arms, letting me cuddle up against his chest. Silence stretched on over quiet breathing. “Been waiting a long time for that,” he finally mumbled. I quirked an eye open, realizing he’d been watching me. I almost didn’t recognize his eyes. For once, they seemed sated. Unhaunted. The clouds had seemed, for a moment, to have parted. “To see you cummm.” He hummed the last word, leaning down and nuzzling the nook of my neck. Still nuzzling, he quirked half his face to look at me. We shared a long kiss, then a shorter one to my forehead. “You’re magnificent.” 

 Though I hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing, I hadn’t felt more naked. And for all the times I’d felt embarrassed around Harry, at least in this moment, he made me feel comfortable about what we’d just done. We lay there, my scent now mingling with the rest of his in the room. I still felt him hard beneath my legs that were strewn across his lap, and I wondered if it was … painful. He stirred, placing one hand behind his head, the other wrapped around me. 

 I traced shapes into his chest. He hummed, smiling softly. It was his boyish smile. The one I’d hardly seen, the one that you want to wrap up and cuddle and protect from the world to keep this one second of pure happiness intact. I pecked the corner of his mouth and his smile broke, squeezing my side. “Thank you,” he mumbled. I checked to make sure his eyes were still closed when I looked down at the black slacks. Since I finished, he should, too. I swallowed nervously as my fingers traced lower, down the button down as I tried to remember the porn Renny and I had watched together one late summer night. His eyelashes fluttered open, and he watched me, curiously, darkly, until I stopped at the tip of his pants. I slipped my fingers beneath the belt, just barely feeling the coarseness of hair before he took my wrist in his hand. He practically hissed and I stilled, not noticing I was holding my breath. I couldn’t possibly be doing this wrong…

 His index finger stroked the top of my hand, and I relaxed. 

 He looked at me gently. “Tonight was for you. S’all I wanted.” His touch was just as gentle, and he placed his thumb between my lips, running over them gently. I didn’t want him to see me as some pure untouched thing he should be scared to do anything with. My lips parted as seductively as I could make them appear, and I moved to let his finger in my mouth, but he cheekily closed my lips instead. 

 He stroked my cheek, almost giggling at my attempt. “This just isn’t how I picture it happening.” 

 The way his eyes were memorizing my lips told me he’d thought about this before, but I didn’t miss that he said how, and not where. Muffled EDC music vibrated his door, and faraway voices travelled through his open window from the yard below. The cops were waiting there, too. Was that the situation he was referring to? 

 “You deserve a lot, Y/N.” 

 I heard the hesitancy in his voice, some unforeseen disappointment he wouldn’t just spell out for me. “What’re you saying.” 

 “Just that there’s few things I want t’be sober for these days.”

 The thought hit my stomach like the sharpened blade of a knife, and it hurt worse than any wound from my nightmares. “Why would you say something like that?” I demanded.

 “Because it’s true.” His eyes searched mine, and I saw the sadness pulling him in. Like the tumultuous water of the middle of the ocean spirally inwards into itself. A treacherous water hole that’d carry you into its deepest abyss.

 I shook my head as if to find a way out, as if that would clear away what I was seeing. “I never… know what’s going on with you,” I admitted. I thought to the interaction with Lionel and Samantha. “Is home life really that bad?” 

 “What home?” He huffed when I looked at him. “M’serious. I feel more alone when I walk in there than I do when I’m here. And nobody even fucking knows me here.” 

 “Everyone knows you.” 

 “You’re smarter than that, Y/N.” 

 “What’d you take tonight, hm?” I cooed. My hand traced the dark circles under his eyes, and he leant against my touch before looking to the window, still allowing me to touch him. No doubt from whatever stimulant or depressant he’d taken, his words had been more candid than ever before. 

 “A cocktail of sorts. Will fucking regret it in the mornin’. Probably.” 

 He looked back to me, and I didn’t have time to wipe the concern from my face. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” he stated.

 He really believed it when he said it, and the way there didn’t seem to be enough energy left in him made me settle back in his arms with a frown. Because it did matter. It mattered a lot. A few moments later, he squeezed my sides. “You didn’t answer my question,” he mumbled. 

 “What question?” 

 He waited until I looked up at him, and even then he was hesitant. His voice was quiet when he spoke, intimate, so if even if someone was standing at the foot of the bed they couldn’t hear what he was about to ask. 

 “Why do you want me, Y/N?” 

 The vulnerable question hung in the air. And though it was presumptuous of him to ask, he wasn’t wrong. His eyes read me like a book he’d read a hundred times over. He saw me. I swallowed, my brain and heart at an all-out war. Unfortunately for me, they captured my tongue in a stale-mate. “I don’t know what I want.”

 And it was true. The dilemma was the following:

The only thing my body wanted was him. 

But my brain didn’t know if that’s what I should be     wanting anymore.  

And my heart was left in the middle of them both, not     sure what it was feeling. 

 I felt him shrug. “I get it. I have so many opinions shouting at me in my head right now. About soccer, my fucked family, about” - he threw his hands between us.  

 After Niall had greeted me at the door, I was sure Harry had talked about us in some capacity. But how many people had opinions on our relationship? “Let me guess. Viv shares her opinion about us.” 

 “I don’t listen to hers.” 

 “But hey, at least she fucks you right.” 

 He sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that.” 

 “But it’s true, right? So no need to apologize.” 

 The room froze over. Just the thought of her whispering in his ear was enough to trigger an entire week’s worth of pent-up animosity. 

 “So maybe people are confused why Viv and I aren’t together but I couldn’t give a fuck about what they think. I fucking hate that we’re even talking about her right now.”

 “What do they say?” 

 He rolled his eyes, hurriedly slanting his voice, “Viv’s gorgeous mate, she clearly wants you. What the fuck are you doing now?” 

 I flinched. He noticed. “Look, I seriously hate talking about this. Can we talk about the fact that I didn’t invite anyone tonight?” 

 “Aw, was Viv busy?”

 “Alright, stop.” 

 A chill shot down my spine at the rejection. As much as I wanted to appreciate the fact he didn’t invite anyone, it didn’t help. This wasn’t helping at all. “I’m sorry if I want to talk about your relationships that directly affect me,” I said, rolling out of his arms.

 “Y/N, please. It’s not like that.” His voice was tired, pleading, coaxing me to forget. 

 “But why are you like this? Why did you just say what you did to me?”

 “You asked me-”

 “It was very belittling.” I changed my voice to a dopey British accent, “Viv’s gorgeous what the fuck are you doing with Y/N?” I ignored his scowl. “Really, thanks for the best compliment of the night.” I pushed against his chest, annoyed. “And why are you being like this now? All cuddly and-”

 “It’s not one-sided.” 

 I felt my cheeks heat. “Not tonight. But it’s one-sided any other time.”   

 “S’that what you really think of me?” He pulled me closer, and I fought the urge to twist away. His forehead pressed into my hair. “Firstly, you’re fucking beautiful Y/N. You have to know this. And you have to know you’re important to me. And secondly…”

 “Thirdly,” I corrected.

 His eyes turned somber. “They’re watching,” he mumbled, pleading. “This is hard for me, too.” 

 The gang, the cops, both, whichever it was, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same. No matter how special he claimed I was to him, we always went in circles. Maybe he had gotten it right. Maybe it was better for both of us if we weren’t together. “Why is it so hard then?” I whispered. 

 “Nothing good comes easy.”

 I remained silent. It was a cop-out response.

 He ran a hand down his face and sat up. “Because I’m fucked! I’m fucked, Y/N and there’s only so many people I can hide from. And you aren’t one of them.” 

 It was the most candid he’d ever been with me, without revealing anything at all.

 A knock sounded at the door. 

 I went to move, but he kept me against him, covering my ears as he shouted- 

 “FUCK OFF!!” 

 But even with his hands over my ears, it wasn’t very muted. The knock grew louder, more obnoxious. 

 “Sorry,” he grumbled, moving to open the door. When it opened, a boy wearing a snapback around the same height as Harry leant against the doorframe.

 “Wassup, man-” Snapback almost burst in.

 Harry’s back went stiff as the stranger’s snapback practically poked Harry in the eye. If their overcompensating confidence and too-familiar smile told me anything – freshmen. At least Snapback’s friend wore a Bond-inspired bow-tie t-shirt.

 Harry put a hand to Snapback’s chest, backing him back out of the room. They watched me walk up behind him.

 “Hey, relax man, we just wanted to get some zombies,” Bowtie bargained. 

 “You’ve got some fucking balls,” he snarled.

 My ears pricked. He was looking for the same thing, then. From Harry. My heart sunk to the lowest part of my belly after remembering why I’d come here in the first place. The sliver of hope I’d had was that maybe what Zayn had witnessed was just Harry’s past. A summer blunder. A summer fling with an illegal hobby. You know, some kids did drugs, some kids sold drugs... It was a ridiculously stupid comparison now that I thought about it. But still, I had hope. Now my undeniable denial was being shred up right in front of me.

 The cops, the gang, the drugs circulating campus…

 Harry had made his bed, and I was lying in it. 

 I squeezed past him.

 “Wait, are you leaving?” He still blocked his doorway.

 I ignored the pang of guilt I felt at his boyish disappointment. He looked at me, body still intimidatingly rigid, but his eyes, impossibly soft. Snapback tried to move past him again and Harry whipped his head back with a growl. “Get the fuck out of here.” 

 “Excuse me?” Bowtie came closer, puffing out his muscled chest. Testosterone, angst and alcohol were never the best combination. I grew nervous at the tension, looking from my escape at the end of the hall, back to Harry. 

 “C’mon, we have the cash. We’ll pay double!” Snapback whined, cornering him. 

 The words made me nauseous, conjuring the image of Viv sliding Harry the cash. I didn’t want to see this again. I didn’t want to see anything again.

 “I don’t do that shit anymore.” He strode through their barricade, determined, but Bowtie tugged him back. His nostrils flared and I could tell he was trying to keep his cool. He could ruin these guys if he wanted to. I don’t know why he was letting them keep him. But I also didn’t know why I didn’t run away. It was like watching a train wreck seconds before it happened.

 I stood alone, in the center of the hall, the only person on Harry’s horizon. A lighthouse hoping to steer the sailor home.

 “C’mon, please man, everyone’s talking about them. We just need one,” Snapback exhorted. He put up his hands, pleading. “We’ll split one. We’ll seriously cut it in half.” 

 Even from here, I could see the muscles in his neck tense. I tried doing to him what he did to everyone else. I trapped him, wide-eyed, anchoring him to me. He didn’t break our stare.

 As if each word scraped against his skull, “I said I don’t do that shit.”

 “That’s a fucking joke. Mark got some last week,” Bowtie barked.

 I saw the moment I lost him. In what world I thought I could be enough to harbor him, I had no idea. Harry snapped, kicking the steroid-pumped kid so hard in the knee, it knocked him down. It wasn’t a broken bone, but it’d leave one hell of a bruise.  

 “Dude, are you crazy?!” Snapback cried. 

 Harry raised his fist, bringing it flying. I gasped and hid my face. But I didn’t hear an impact. I faced them again.

 Harry’s fist froze inches before his cheek. Facing what would have been a badly broken nose, Bowtie shook on the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry relaxed his hovering fist and folded his arms, squatting next to the quivering guy. “You’re fucking welcome I was in a good mood ‘fore you came, otherwise I wouldn’t be acting so polite.”  

 The squeak of a floorboard shook Harry back to Earth. He caught me walking away and his whole body straightened, once again hyper-focused on me, trying to tune in and trap me exactly where I stood. Taking advantage of his distraction, Snapback and Bowtie ran for it. Bowtie limped, running into me and knocking me off-balance as he passed.

 In a second, it was just us. 

 “Y/N,” he began, walking towards me cautiously. 

 “No.” 

 He stopped in his tracks. He was tall, but his shoulders hung in despondent defeat.

 “You were right, Harry.” 

 I could see how tired he was. I could see the broken pieces fitting into something beautiful. He looked so sad and regretful, I already felt guilty for saying,

 “You can’t hide anymore.” And with one last look at the broken boy before me, “You are fucked.” 

 Suddenly, the beer on the floor was just stale and sticky. The couches were filthy from strangers’ mistakes. And the air would never be clear. Harry had been right. This entire house was filled with people who didn’t care and if they did, they were trying to forget; a place more empty than if it were vacant. It was a mess just like the boy living in it. And just like the grand house, impressive at first glance, not all of his parts were beautiful.

 I ignored the way his broken pieces seemed to shatter as soon as I said it and the way it hurt me ten-fold. I ignored him calling out my name as I maneuvered through the blur of bodies, until I lost his voice on the dance floor. I could breathe better outside and I walked past the cops without acknowledging them. 

 From complete chaos to relative quiet, my ears rung, filling the new silence.

 Maybe this was the last time we’d speak. Maybe this was how it all should’ve ended that first day in September. Because in that house, that wasn’t the Harry I thought I’d knew. That was a boy far-gone, confused, and I was falling down with him. I was ANGRY. I PITIED him. And I was angry for feeling something else I should never have felt for him.

 Somehow, in this fuzzy ringing world buzzing with heated thoughts and cop lights that blurred my vision, I heard a notepad scribble as soon as I passed a squad car. 

 Lucky for me, Momma always said I had selective hearing.

part 21