#i’m not sure what love is now. it’s every single one of these and it’s something else entirely

[fastandcarlos]

Cuddles Are Home : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: as max arrives home after a busy day, he's keen to try something new, however it doesn't quite work out as well as he imagined

No words needed to be spoken as Max walked into your hotel room. His muscles were aching, his eyes drooping as a result of yet another long day of practice. Race day was only a day away and he was pushing himself to the limit. You barely glanced at him as he walked in, knowing he had his own routine that he loved. Whilst Max sorted himself, you laid out across the sofa and scrolled through your phone, catching up with the events of the day that you had missed whilst down at the paddock supporting Max.

As soon as you heard his footsteps come back through the room you stood up from the sofa and went into the small kitchen that was attached. Meanwhile, Max walked into the living room and threw himself down on the sofa. He stretched his limbs out as much as he could, with his tall frame it didn’t take much for him to take up most of the room. After a few minutes you returned, placing the hot cup of tea that you had made for Max on the coffee table, you looked in confusion to try and find some space. Max could feel you staring, smiling softly at the expression on your face. He didn’t say a word, he simply tapped against his muscular chest, only to make you scoff, shaking your head as you quickly refused to accept Max’s offer.

“Just lay here, I’ll be alright.”

“You’re sore from a day of racing, the last thing you need is me on top of you,” you tried to argue, but Max was having none of it.

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem,” Max assured you, lazily reaching out and taking a hold of your hand. You took a step forward before he used his extra weight to pull you down on top of him. Your head rested at the top of his chest, just underneath his neck, bodies pressed together as you managed to rest your legs between Max’s. His arm wrapped around you, making sure that you were safe in position, squeezing you nice and tight to make the most of the close proximity between you both.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me laying here,” you chuckled as you felt several kisses being pressed against the top of your head, “we’ve become one of those couples.”

“It’s your fault,” he innocently teased, “you’ve turned me into one of those boyfriends I never thought I’d be.”

“Hey,” you giggled, slapping your hand gently against Max’s bare chest. You knew deep down it was true what Max was saying, he had been quite standoffish when you first started dating, but over time you had found a new, softer, side to Max that left him being known more for how affectionate he was towards you rather than the world champion he was.

And you would never have had him any other way.

“I hate that I love what you’ve done to me.”

There he went again, jokingly blaming you as if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with you and thankful for you every single day.

“You’re comfortable, right? We can shuffle around if you’re not babe.”

“I’m alright,” you assured Max, shuffling closer into his side as his grip around you tightened. “I wonder if the Max I knew when we first started dating ever imagined himself cuddling on the sofa like this.”

It was the kind of wholesome moment that Max always refused to be a part of, but now he craved. He laid for some time and told you about his day, filled you in on all the details that you missed from the practice from where you were stood in the paddock, making sure to share every last detail with you.

And as he did so, you listened intently too. You were so close to his heart you could feel it quicken as he spoke about those adrenaline inducing moments, or calming again when he told you how relieved he was to return the car to the garage in one piece.

Once he’d finished speaking, you tilted your head back and looked up at Max. “I could imagine us laying here forever you know.”

He hummed in agreement, “I love being able to hold you this close to me.”

You chose not to respond as you heard how sleepy Max was, silently encouraging him to try and get a bit of rest.

It didn’t take long before you heard Max’s light snores about you letting you know that he was resting, despite your apprehension, laying on his chest had ended up being surprisingly comfortable. You weren’t sure how long you ended up laying there as you soon found yourself beginning to get sleepy on top of Max. You weren’t sure whether it was his touch, or the comfort of knowing that he was right there beside you, but something caused your body to switch. Max was out like a light, and soon enough you joined him, still squeezed on the sofa with your holds as tight as ever, making sure that nothing bad happened to the other person.

“Ouch! Oh my goodness!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

A loud groan came from you as you felt the edge of the coffee table hit against your back before landing on the floor with a thud. Your hands rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you tried to figure how in a matter of moments you had gone from comfortably laying on top of Max to find yourself laid out on the living room floor, pain shooting through you.

Max jolted upright as soon as he heard your voice, cringing as he looked down at you on the floor. Your expression told him everything, pressing your hand into the small of your back where the pain was at its worst.

“Love, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Tell me where it hurts…please,” Max whispered, pushing himself off of the sofa and joining you on the floor, pulling you into his side.

“Damn,” you sighed, biting down on the inside of your lip, struggling to come to terms with what had happened. It didn’t take long for Max to place his hand where your pain was coming from in an attempt to ease it for you.

“Do you need to get checked out? Does it hurt anywhere else?” Max questioned, the panic strong in his voice as his eyes darted to check you properly.

Your head shook, letting Max take a moment to check for himself that you really were alright, covering every last bit of your body.

“Just my pride, it’s taken a bit of a dent,” you tried to joke, bringing the faintest of smiles to Max’s face. “I think my head brushed against the side of the table, but somehow I just about managed to miss it.”

Max doesn’t look as certain as you though.

“Come on, I think a proper bed might help me to feel better.”

Max is still doubtful as you rise to your feet, refusing to let you do anything alone. He could tell from the feeling in his arms that he must’ve gotten tired, ultimately letting go which led to you rolling off of him and ending up in a bundle on the floor.

“Do you think you might be concussed or something?”

“Max, love, I promise that my head didn’t hit anything, I’ll be alright.”

He wants to nod and assure that you he understands, but he knows exactly what you’re like. He’s lost count of how many times you’ve pretended in front of him to stop him from worrying, not wanting thoughts of you to cloud him when he has so many other things to think about, especially when it came to his career.

Max is with you every step of the way as you walk into the bedroom of your hotel, encouraging you to move as slowly as possible. Only when you’re laid out does he finally begin to relax a little.

As soon as he’s there beside you, you’re rolling across and tucking yourself back into him again. First your leg drapes over him, then your arm, and soon enough you’re pushing your entire frame on top of him.

“Do you really want to do this?” Max questioned, reluctantly placing his arms around you, his voice shaky and filled with concern.

“I think I might be a little bit safer laying in a big double bed rather than the sofa,” you assured Max, keeping your grip on him nice and tight so that he had no choice but to let you stay there.

Max wanted to protest, but there was no way he could argue with his injured girl. “Why do you like this so much.”

The answer was easy for you, it was the one thing that you loved more than anything.

You loved the warmth that it brought you, the comfort, and the way it made your heart race. Above all else, you loved how it always made you fall a little bit more in love with Max every single time.

“Your cuddles always feel like home.”

“Really?” Max asked in surprise, never quite imaging you to feel that way. “If that’s the case, I guess I better let you lay here on my chest for the night, right?”

“I won’t be arguing if you do,” you chuckled, finally feeling Max relax underneath you after your little incident.

Max is still a little wary, he can’t help but fret about you. But having you right there where he can keep an eye on you is the best he can ask for. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss against the very top of your head.

“I love you too,” you responded, stretching to be able to capture Max’s jawline with your lips, knowing how much of a sweet spot that sharp line was for him. His strong arms held onto you a little tighter in response, making your heart swell as you both close your eyes again, hoping that next time around you’re still laying there engulfed in each other’s arms again.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[steddiecameraroll]

I Want to Know What Love Is

ao3

Steve doesn’t know when it’ll stop hurting. Everyone says time heals all wounds. But it’s been three years and that feels like more than enough time for the Eddie-shaped wound to heal.

Why does it still hurt?

“Steve?” Robin’s quiet when she peers around the corner.

Steve’s sitting alone on their couch in the middle of the night, staring at the blank television screen, with tears slipping down his cheeks.

“You ok?” Robin slides in beside him, immediately wrapping her arms around him and tugging him in close.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” He wipes the back of his hand across his cheek, and then hugs her closer. “I’m just feeling lonely, I guess.”

“You got me,” she tries to sound upbeat.

“I know,” he pats her arm. “Thank you.”

They sit together in silence, rocking in each other's arms. The darkness feels like a vice around Steve’s heart, squeezing him until he can’t breathe.

“I miss him,” he murmurs.

“I know,” she presses a kiss to his head. “You could probably call him. You know he’s not asleep.”

“I know but it’s not the same.”

“I’m sorry, bud.”

“I think I should’ve gone with him.”

He’s regretted letting Eddie leave for the west coast without him, pretty much from day one. But that guilt, fear, and obligation of protecting everyone still in Hawkins was too strong to let him tag along.

“You could still go.” Robin nudges his shoulder.

“He doesn’t miss me like I miss him. He’s probably fucking all kinds of groupies. Y’know, people can’t resist a rockstar.”

“Steve,” her tone is soft but sad. “Don’t do this to yourself. First, they’re not rockstars. Eddie has a day job. Second, you know he misses you. I can always hear him through the phone when he calls. The way he says your name. That man is still crazy about you.” She runs her fingers through his hair softly. “Call him.”

Steve sighs but doesn’t respond. He wants to believe her, but also can’t withstand getting his hopes up only to be devastated later.

He just needs more time.

“Eddie?”

Eddie’s pulled from his thoughts when his coworker Dale waves him down.

“Sup, man?” Eddie leans his arms along the bar, ducking his head under the hanging martini glasses.

“You think you can take my shift tomorrow? Rach has to go to the hospital. Her mom’s in for something with her heart. I gotta watch the kids.”

“Yeah, man. No problem.”

“Fuck, you’re the best. Oh my god that’s such a relief. Thanks. I’ll owe you one.”

“No problem. Hope everything is ok.” Eddie’s heart always tugs a little bit when he hears someone’s mom is sick.

“Sounds like it. They’re just keeping her to make sure.”

“Good, don’t worry about tomorrow. I got it.” Eddie slaps his palm on the shiny bar top and slides down to a new patron at the last stool. He sets a napkin in front of the man. “What can I get ya?”

It’s a quiet night in the bar. Slower than molasses quiet. He hates nights like this. Not only does it hit his pockets it gives him enough time to think. And time to think is bad for Eddie’s mental health.

He’s been in California for three years now and he’s not anywhere closer to making it big than when he showed up. The guys are getting over it. Tired of burning the candle at both ends and hearing ‘no’ at every single turn.

Plus…

He’s fucking lonely.

He has been trying so hard to get over Steve. When he first got to L.A. he was able to distract himself with a new place, a new job, a new dream, new surroundings everything, but that fizzled away quickly.

He’s avoiding the party scene. There’s a lot harder drugs being passed around than in Hawkins. And thanks to his dear old pops, he’s learned stay away from that shit. He doesn’t want to be a washed up rockstar before he even becomes a rockstar.

He pours the new customer a beer then goes back to organizing the receipts. His thumb is tapping mindlessly along to the music pumping from the jukebox, when the tune changes and he feels it in his heart.

I wanna know what love is

I want you to show me

I wanna feel what love is

I know you can show me

Fucking, Foreigner. This song always reminds him of Steve and that night he, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle went out to the Robinson’s farm. A few six packs, some California Grade-A purple palm tree delight, and drunken karaoke style singing under the stars.

Steve was hanging off Eddie. His arm slung around Eddie’s neck while he sung his heart out into his beer can. Eddie couldn’t pull his eyes off the man. They hadn’t kissed yet. Hadn’t even acknowledged what was happening between them.

But under the August night sky of finally saved Hawkins, Indiana, Eddie Munson fell in love with Steve Harrington.

“You ok, man?” Dale suddenly appears to Eddie’s left, and Eddie has to clear his throat to hide the emotions trying to crawl up his throat.

“Mhm, I’m good. Fucking hate this song.” Eddie keeps his eyes pointed down because it would be painfully obvious he was lying otherwise.

Dale chuckles. “Yeah, hear that. Rach loves it. She belts it out whenever it comes on the radio and she’s in the kitchen.”

Eddie’s heart aches a little more at the idea that maybe Steve would do the same thing.

The phone behind the bar rings and Eddie jumps to grab it.

“Mickey’s.”

“Eddie?”

His heart drops to his feet because how could he know Eddie was thinking about him?

“Steve? Are you ok?” Eddie’s ears are pounding as he waits.

“I don’t know.” Steve sounds too sad for Eddie’s heart.

“Hold on, ok? I’m gonna take my break and pick you up back in the office. Ok? Just give me two minutes.”

“Ok,” Steve whispers.

Eddie presses the hold button and asks Dale to watch the bar, then races to the back room. His fingers fumble to pick up the phone as he drops into the ancient office chair.

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” Eddie’s heart is racing.

“Nothin’, really. I was- I was thinking about you. Robin said I should call.”

“I’m glad you did,” Eddie’s fingers wind through the phone cord anxiously. “Y’know what was playing on the jukebox? Just now?”

“What?” Steve’s voice sounds soft and fluffy.

“I wanna know what love iiiiiissss,” Eddie sings softly down the line. He hears Steve chuckle and it pushes him to keep singing. “I want you to show meeeeee.”

Eddie hears Steve take a shaky breath. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Eddie can’t stop himself from smiling. “I miss you, too.”

“No-no you don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss poking your dimples. I fucking miss you. I should’ve gone with. I’m so stupid. I should’ve gone with you. And it’s too late and I miss you so fucking much. I’m sorry. Shit,” Steve clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sorry. I’m a fucking mess. I’m sorry. I’m gonna go. Sorry for calling you at work.”

“Steve? Don’t hang up. Please. Don’t hang up.” Eddie rushes out. “Listen to me, don’t hang up.”

“Ok.”

“Stevie? Baby?” Eddie hears Steve whine at the pet name. “I miss you, too. I do. I miss the smell of your hairspray, and the way you crinkle your nose in the morning when your alarm goes off. I miss you and Robin giving me a hard time about my smoking. I hate it here, baby. Fucking California sucks. I miss the stars. But I miss you more. Don’t come out here. I wanna come home.”

He’s been thinking about it for months, waiting for his sign. If Steve calling him out of the blue, while Foreigner is playing on the jukebox, and tells him how much he’s missed him isn’t a clear sign then nothing will be.

“I love you, Steve. I never stopped loving you. I’m glad you didn’t come out here. You’d hate it and probably hate me because of it.” Eddie drags a knuckle under his eye.

“I love you, too. But I don’t want you to give up on your dreams. What about the band? What about The Garden?”

“They hate it here too. Gareth is a week away from quitting. I can feel it. Jeff has a girlfriend and a really good job that he’s not going to give up. It’s over. We tried. Music is different now. New decade means new sound. I wanna come home.” He takes a deep inhale and feels a million pounds lighter. “Fuck, I’d come home right now if I could. Sneak into your place and snuggle under your covers.”

“Yeah?” Eddie can hear Steve’s smile.

“Yep, scoop you up into my arms and kiss every single beauty mark across your skin. Fuck, I miss biting those two on your neck. Are they still there? Do they miss me?”

“You’re ridiculous. Yes they’re still there.”

“And??” Eddie leans forward in his chair.

“Yes they miss you,” Steve says quietly like he’s trying to hide his face.

“I knew it,” Eddie groans. “Tell them I’m gonna be home soon, ok? I gotta get back to work, baby. I’m gonna call you tomorrow and we can talk about it.”

“Ok,” Steve hums. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Eddie’s cheeks are hurting. He can’t stop smiling. “God, I love you. Fuck, that feels good to say. I love you, Steve Harrington. I fucking love you. Ok, I gotta hang up. Tomorrow. I’ll call you tomorrow. Ok?”

“Yeah. I love you, Eddie Munson. Night.”

“Bye, baby.”

Eddie slowly lowers the phone down before jumping to his feet and punching happily into the air. He spins around a few times before trying to collect himself and heading back to the bar.

Dale raises an eyebrow at him. “Everything good?”

“Yep, great. Everything’s fucking great.” He slaps the man on the shoulder and beams brightly at him. “You know what? We should play Foreigner again.”

Eddie bounces around the bar and giddily drops change into the machine. He punches in the corresponding buttons, leans against the device and waits for the music to fill the air. Dale watches amusingly from across the almost empty bar when Eddie starts to shimmy his shoulders to the music.

I've gotta take a little time

A little time to think things over

Eddie can’t help himself and sings along. His chest is filled with too much joy to hold it back.

I better read between the lines

In case I need it when I'm older

“Dude? What are you doing?” Dale yells across the room.

“I’m fucking singing, man. Someone still loves me back home. I’m fucking singing.”

Dale rolls his eyes fondly, shakes his head, and turns back to the bar.

Eddie doesn’t care.

He’s going home.

Steve still loves him.

He’s going home.

coffee? ☕️🍩💕

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[lemoncrushh]

Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[turcott3]

https://www.tumblr.com/turcott3/752590033230413824/listen-here-my-concept-on-matt-was-being-a-good

This was so so sooo good I’m already anxious for another part

second, first

matt rempe x fem! reader

warnings?: cursing, kissing, smut, oral sex female receiving, unprotected sex, and copious amounts of fluff!!!!!

part 1 and masterlist

matt was coming over tonight, just like he did on the same day every week. this was gonna be the first time you’d seen him since he’d taught you how to, to be frank, suck dick. you were nervous because you knew what today was. you promised him last time that the next time you saw him would be the time you went all the way, because that’s what you said you wanted.

that scared you.

not because you didn’t trust him, you trusted him more than anything in the world, or that you didn’t want to, of course you wanted to, you were just scared that maybe he’d changed his mind. maybe he didn’t wanna have sex with you anymore.

oh my god, what if he didn’t?

what if he comes and tells you he doesn’t want to move forward? or what if he forgot, what if he’s talking to someone else? what if he doesn’t even show u-

your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of loud taps on your front door, shoving you back into reality.

“hi.” you smile lightly, one of his hands behind his back.

“hi y/n, i got this for you while i was on my way here. picked the best one” he says, presenting a single rose and handing it to you, showing you to the part of the stem that had no thorns. as cliché as it is, your heart melted at the thought.

“awe matt this beautiful, thank you so much.” you reply.

“of course,” he smiles stepping into your apartment, pulling you to his chest.

“i’m making dinner.” you smile as he follows you into the kitchen.

“i love me a women that cooks.” he smirks, a blush spreading across your face. he finds one of the vases from your cabinets and puts the rose in a fair amount of water, placing it on your counter.

“and don’t worry, there’s plenty for both of us,” you say, finishing up your cooking. you were sure to start early so that it’d be ready when he arrived, but also to help soothe your nerves.

you sat together on the couch watching a movie after you’d both finished your meal. you found yourself comfortably under his arm, your head leaned on his shoulder. two weeks ago, you’d never imagine being in this position. you couldn’t tell if it was awkward or if there was any sort of negative tension. you sat there, toying with the hem of his shorts as a way to calm your nerves. you were sat cuddled up with your childhood best friend who you were now certain that you wanted more from.

you wanted him and no one else.

“you okay?” he asks quietly, leaning his head down closer to your ear.

“oh uh, yeah i’m okay.” you reply with a week smile. quickly, he picks up the remote and pauses the movie, removing his arm from you. suddenly, you were picked up and moved, straight onto his lap. he gave you a moment to adjust, straddling his hips innocently.

fuck.

“what up with you? you’re acting so shy and quiet.” he asks again, hands placed lightly on your thighs.

“nothing matt, i swear.” you reply, making spotty eye contact with the boy.

“y/n, look at me. if you’re nervous, just tell me okay? i’m not here to embarrass you or anything like that. you know that.” he continues, thumbs rubbing lightly across the skin of your legs.

“i am nervous. i’ve been anxious since i woke up this morning.” you admit tearfully.

“come here.” he coos, pulling you to his chest, nuzzling your head under his chin.

“we don’t have to do anything if you’re not ready sweet girl.” he says, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down your back as you collected yourself for a few minutes.

“no no i do want to matt, i just-“ you paused briefly.

“tell me.” he pushes gently.

“my first time was so long ago that i feel like it’s just fizzled away, i don’t remember what it felt like. it feels like it’s my first time all over again. i’m nervous i won’t do it right.” you say sitting up.

“it’s your second, first.” he smiles, trying to crack you, which of course ended up working.

“which is why i’m so scared.” you sigh.

“don’t be scared y/n, i got you.” he replies with a sweet smile, wiping the short tears that ended up falling.

“i know.” you smile as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“do you wanna go to your bed?” he asks softly and you nod as he picks you up, carrying you back to your room, just like he’d done before. you laid your head on his shoulder as you watched the living room disappear behind your doorway. he pushes the door shut quietly, laying you down on your bed gently, connecting your lips for the first time tonight. that same feeling from last time kicked in in an instant. you wrapped your arms around, behind his neck holding him close to you. he pulls away only a few inches.

“are you ready for me?” he asks and you nod.

“i didn’t forget what you wanted by the way.” he giggles, remembering that you’d said you wanted him to perform the same actions on you, that you did on him.

“you didn’t?”

“of course not, how could i?” he laughs standing up removing his shirt as you pulled your sweats off. you stripped evenly, just as you had before, once again down to just your underwear. he reconnected your lips, his hands wandering down your torso and around your back, goosebumps trailing his rough hands. his fingers find their way under the band of your underwear, not budging yet.

“is this okay?” he asks, lightly tugging down on your panties.

“yes.” you replied nervously as he carefully pulled them down, tossing them to the side. he pulls you by your ankles closer to the end of your bed.

“tell me if you want to stop.” he says before kissing up your inner thigh, his hands gripped on the outside of them. you grew wet as the heat of his breath grew closer to your pussy and gasped as his tongue made careful contact. your hands balled up the sheets in your fists.

“oh fuck.” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut. you couldn’t believe how he was making you feel. his tongue swirling and sucking on your clit, pushing you further along than you ever thought you could. you grew impossibly hornier as you looked down and locked eyes with the brunette who was tongue deep in your wetness. this moment of eye contact didn’t last long as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your orgasm coming incredibly close.

“matt.” you moaned, tugging on the boys hair as he continued, his lips sucking one last time before pulling away, your wetness soaking his face. you yanked him by his wrists back to you, anxiously attaching your lips, not carrying that his face was buried between your legs just seconds ago.

“fuck that was hot.” he giggles pulling away.

“you’re hot.” you reply shoving him away giggling.

“are you sure you want to keep going?” he asks.

“yes, i’m sure.”

“okay baby, all you need to do is just relax. lay there looking fucking beautiful and i’ll guide you through everything, just like he should’ve done the last time. that okay?” he asks, unclasping your bra with ease, helping you tug it off your arms. you nod your head vigorously in response.

“no, use your words y/n. i need to hear you say that it’s okay.” he says tossing the bra onto the floor.

“yes matt, that’s okay.” you respond loving his pushy thoughtfulness. you truly felt protected and cared for by him, in every possible scenario. you’d never felt more comfortable. he made sure you were safe and went out of his way to make the night about you, just like last time.

“okay.” he smiles, leaning down to kiss you once again before removing his boxers, revealing his already hard cock. you’d almost forgotten how big he actually was. you went wide eyed as he jerked himself off a few times, growing impossibly harder.

“baby, eyes up here. just look at me okay. i don’t want you to be nervous.” he says lowly, your eyes diverting to his brown ones.

“i’m scared that it’s gonna hurt matt, you’re so big.”

“i won’t hurt you angel, i wouldn’t dream of it. i’ll go slow. remember, this is about you and your body, not mine.” he says positioning himself above you, running his thick cock through your soaking folds.

“tell me when you need a second.” he says.

“okay.” you reply as you gripped onto his biceps. slowly, he pushed his tip into you, earning an audible hiss from you. he stops abruptly and pulls away for a moment.

“relax. just breathe okay, it’s gonna be fine.” he giggles, knowing that he couldn’t push further until you fully relaxed your body.

“sorry.”

“don’t apologize. you can trust me baby, i promise.” he repeats, reaffirming why you’d chosen him to share this intimate moment with. he repeats his action, pushing his head in a little bit further, your grip on his biceps growing stronger. he pushes a little bit further, a bit of his shaft entering as well.

“stop.” you say gritting your teeth.

“take your time y/n. no rush.” he says as you nod for him to push further. you still felt sharp pain but chose to power through, allowing him to finally bottom out, not yet moving further. you felt full, no more room for a single other inch.

“okay you can move, just go slow.” you say and he nods, beginning to retract his hips, that feeling of fullness disappearing as his cock slid out of you. it hurt almost as badly as he thrusted back into you slowly, your hands moving to his cheeks, pulling him to your lips, distracting yourself from the subsiding pain. his thrusts became slightly quicker, just as deep and thorough as before. you only broke apart the kiss when a moan was ripped from your throat, euphoria washing over your body.

“that’s my girl.” he giggles above you before tucking his head into your neck, sucking and upping on the skin of your neck as his hips snapped into you smoothly. the sound of skin slapping started to catch up to the volume of your moans.

“god matt, you feel so fucking good.” you whine as you tug on his hair, his head still nuzzled under your chin, his hands now placed underneath your back, holding you flush against his chest. you tugged him away from your neck locking eyes with him as his thrusts somehow became deeper and harder.

“fit so perfect around me.” he grunts out, reattaching your lips. his kisses started to feel like oxygen to you. like you couldn’t function unless your lips were on his. you couldn’t believe the feelings he gave you. they were so complex, yet you knew exactly what you were feeling toward him. you felt so taken care of by him, even in this moment. he paid attention to detail putting your pleasure first.

“i think im gonna cum.” you moan, squeezing your eyes shut.

“come on baby, let go for me. cum on my cock.” he says, his hips snapping sharply into you, your moans moving up an octave. instantly, you felt your whole body relax. shockwaves of pleasure shuttering through your body as you shook vigorously through your orgasm.

“such a good girl.” he says lowly, fucking you all the way through your high.

“i’m getting close.” he grunts as you smile, enjoying the feeling of your orgasm fizzling away as you were fucked right through it, sad once the feeling of his cock disappeared from inside you.

“oh fuck.” he moans, spurting his climax onto your stomach, jerking himself dry. he stays over you for a moment catching his breath.

“stay right here, okay? i’m gonna clean you up.” he says and you nod as he walked to the bathroom, returning with a damp rag, carefully wiping away the cum from your lower abdomen. the two of you climbed under the covers facing each other.

“i give you an A+ on the munch.” you joke and he laughs.

“i’m glad it was good.” he giggles.

“matt it was more than good. everything was fucking incredible. god it felt so fucking good.”

“that’s exactly what you deserve y/n.” he replies with a light giggle, moving your hair off of your face.

“like you don’t understand, i’ve never felt that, fuck i don’t even know how to say it. i’ve never felt that cared for in my life.” you giggle, interlocking your fingers with his.

“i love you y/n,” he starts, startling himself, “oh shit did i just say that out loud?” he giggles, covering his mouth quickly, the two of you laughing together.

“i love you too matt.” you reply.

“for real?” he responds, eyes wide.

“yes matt, i fucking love you.” you say, placing your hands on his cheeks before turning him over and climbing onto his lap.

“oh my gosh, i don’t even know what to say.” he says, blushing nervously.

“don’t get all nervous on me now.” you giggle as he pulls you to his chest.

“and you’re never gonna have to go without me ever again.” he says into your hair, kissing you on the head.

your heart melted at the sound of his voice reassuring you that you’d never have to go another day without his love for you. you’d never felt more content in your life and you couldn’t believe you’d finally found a love that you’d always dreamed of, with someone you’d known your entire life.

it was right in front of you all along.

had you been ignoring your feelings all this time? or was this new?

you didn’t know, nor did you care at this point because you knew you’d found the love of your life. the search was finally over.

-

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 5

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The fifth time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — when you finally decide you've waited long enough to tell him what he means to you.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Things are heating up!!! As you can tell, this chapter is a bit longer, and I can promise you, it's got a lot of good stuff in it :D By far my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have, and I appreciate all your kind words and support so much!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

A week after you’ve made an official friendship declaration with Colt Seavers, you’re back on the dim, grimy underground train station set, getting ready to watch him throw himself in front of a moving train.

At the moment, Colt is standing on the other side of the train tracks, and you’re watching him from a considerable distance across the set. You have every reason to be there — this is the set you’ve been working on day and night for the last month, after all — but you’re not the least bit worried about any of your props or decorations. All you care about is making sure Colt pulls off one of his most dangerous stunts yet.

It’s been a strange week for you. On one hand, you’re glad that Colt knows you have some feelings for him, and that your friendship has been able to carry on without becoming awkward. His sincere, unexpected apology only made your feelings stronger, but you’re trying to ignore that.

All the same, being “just friends” is the slowest, most excruciating torture you’ve ever known. For one whole week, Colt has not done a single thing that could be interpreted as overly flirtatious, just as he promised he wouldn’t so you could be spared the pain. No subtle touches, no saucy looks, no double-edged words. It’s kind of him, really.

It also hurts like a razorblade on a third-degree burn.

Still, it’s better than nothing. As long as you can have him in your life in some way, you’re satisfied to try to quell these overwhelming feelings that threaten to break free at any moment. You’re in love with him — you know that now if you never knew it before — but you just have to be content knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way. That you have to love him as you’d love a friend.

So here you are, being a supportive friend as he casts himself headfirst into a dangerous situation. This stunt involves standing in for the film’s star, Tom Ryder, whose character is supposed to be shackled to a railroad track directly in the path of a moving train, only to break free just in time. Colt’s job is to pretend to be shackled down and jump up in plenty of time to clear the path of the moving train, which is, to your great dismay, not a prop in the slightest.

As the camera crew makes their last arrangements to start filming this shot, Colt turns from fiddling with a handcuff prop to catch your eyes in the crowd that has gathered to watch. He smiles when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting and throwing his trademark thumbs-up high above his head.

Your heart speeds up at the sight of Colt’s smile, and you wave back at him in what you hope is an encouraging manner.

“Hey, relax,” a female voice says in your ear. You turn to see Holly grinning at you as she walks back to the cameras that are already in position. “He’s done this kind of thing a million times.”

You cut your eyes at her with a smirk. “I’m not worried,” you insist.

Holly lifts both eyebrows and laughs at you, always able to read what you’re really thinking. You laugh with her, glad to feel the knot in your stomach loosening a little. Holly gives your hand a quick squeeze in encouragement before taking her place at the lead camera station.

When you look back at the set, Colt is already in position, crouched down on one knee with his hands behind his back. You know he’s not actually tied down, but even seeing the fake handcuffs almost makes you wish you hadn’t come to watch.

Elijah Gordon, the director, is shouting some instructions at the crew as they make their last-minute preparations. He’s already cued the train to start moving, as it takes nearly half a mile to get the desired speed for the shot.

“One minute, people!” Gordon bellows, situating himself on a camera dolly high enough that he can see the action below. “We’re doing this in one take, or we’re not doing it at all. Colt, remember I want it to look real!”

Colt grins up at Gordon, his face smeared with fake dirt and his teeth shining like a white band through the grime. “It is real, Gordon!”

Gordon gives a curt nod, then listens to a voice over the walkie-talkie. Though your mind is focused on watching Colt, you can’t help the creeping disdain that you always feel when it comes to Elijah Gordon. The man is a phenomenal director, but he’s also the most callous, self-centered, inconsiderate person you’ve ever known. Knowing Colt’s life is more or less in Gordon’s hands makes you feel queasy.

The train whistle pierces the echoey tunnel chamber, and Gordon lifts his megaphone to shout, “Roll cameras!”

You put both hands over your mouth, dreading having to watch the scene play out. Colt looks entirely confident where he kneels on the railroad track, but you can’t help wondering what he feels in moments like this. Does he get scared? Does he lose faith in his own abilities? Does he ever doubt that the stunt will work perfectly? Can he afford to think like that?

A second train whistle stabs your ears, and you can feel your heart beating faster than ever before. You feel like you’re the one lingering on the tracks.

You can see the train now, and your eyes flit back to Colt, whose face is mostly hidden by the bandanna tied around his forehead. His muscles are tensed, ready to spring away at the perfect second. Gordon is shouting directions, his voice barely audible above the racket of the approaching train. He holds up his hand high in the air, signaling to Colt to stay in position.

The train eats up another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Gordon’s hand doesn’t budge, and Colt keeps his eyes on the director for his cue to move.

You can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, and it takes all your willpower not to screw your eyes shut. You keep them open as if caught in a trance, bouncing back and forth between Colt and the train as if you’re watching a tennis match.

The train rumbles closer and closer, now near enough that you can see the face of the man driving the engine. You hold your breath, waiting for Gordon to throw his hand down in a signal to Colt.

But Gordon’s hand doesn’t move. Another screeching whistle. The train is less than a hundred yards away now.

You know he should have given Colt the signal by now — you were there for the days of blocking and planning that went into this scene. Suddenly your lungs constrict as you realize Gordon is pushing Colt for a few more seconds on the tracks, long enough to make the film audiences gasp.

“Stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is drowned out by the roar of the train. Your feet are carrying you in a sprint before you even register your own movement. Two hundred feet away now.

“Gordon, stop it!” The director can’t hear you, but Holly does, whirling around and grabbing you by both arms to stop you from getting any closer to the set. You can see Colt’s eyes get wider as he realizes that Gordon isn’t lowering his arm.

Everything in your entire being is shuddering, wanting to shut down, wanting to scream, to explode into action, but Holly beckons for two other crew members to help hold you back. All you can do is watch as the train draws closer and Colt waits for Gordon’s signal. One hundred feet.

“Holly, make him stop!” you scream at your friend, whose distressed expression tells you you’re not alone in your confused panic.

At the last second, with the train less than fifty feet away, Gordon throws his hand down, and Colt is already in motion, somersaulting off the track and into the safety zone as the train — all forty tons of it — whizzes over the space that Colt occupied seconds ago.

Holly and her two crew members hold you back a second longer, and when the red light on the camera flickers off, you break past them and run as fast as you can onto the set. You can barely see where to step as you climb over the platform and down into the dingy, darkened train tunnel, tears blurring your vision and your pulse hammering in your ears.

Colt is leaning against the wall of the tunnel, his face as white as a ghost. Several crew members have already gathered around him, but you shove past them and throw your arms around his neck, uncaring of what anyone might think. You can feel Colt trembling in your arms even as his easygoing voice whispers in your ear, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Once you’re satisfied that he really is alive, you pull back, framing his face in your hands and searching his eyes with what you know must be a crazed look. Colt doesn’t say anything more; the color is slowly returning to his face, and his nerves are calming down now that the adrenaline wears off. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip on you, betraying how shaken he still is.

“Nice work, Colt,” bellows a voice from the train platform. “That was just what we needed.”

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, all you can see is red.

Setting your jaw, you turn away from Colt and stride back to the platform with more rage than you can remember feeling in your entire life. Every muscle in your body is quaking visibly, and your voice rings out loud and clear over the chaos in the set when you shout, “How dare you?”

Gordon turns from his conversation with a cameraman and gives you a nonplussed glance. When he realizes that your yell and your power walk are directed at him, he dismisses the cameraman to deal with you head-on.

“Something you want to discuss?” Gordon asks you, condescension dripping from his voice.

Behind you, you hear Colt making his way onto the platform, his calm voice assuring you, “Hey, it’s okay—”

But you’re not in the mood to be comforted. “It is not okay, Colt,” you shout, your eyes still locked on Gordon. Every eye on the set is directed at you, now that you’ve chosen to make a huge scene with Elijah Gordon himself. Colt pulls to a stop beside you, but your words are still pointed at Gordon. “How could you make him do that? How dare you make him do that?”

“There wasn’t any real risk, kid,” Gordon says flippantly. “Keep your bonnet on.”

“No real risk?” you demand. “Did we just see the same scene? Colt was trying to get off the tracks to stay alive, and you forced him to stay on longer so you could get a ‘closer call’ on camera.”

Gordon’s brows lower at that. “Again, not life-threatening,” he snaps. “If it were, Colt wouldn’t have finished the stunt, and I wouldn’t have made him do it.”

“You weren’t the one staring down the headlights of a train!”

Colt rests his hand on your elbow in an attempt to get you to calm down, but Gordon fires back at you immediately, “He’s a stuntman, my dear. In case you folks in the set decorating department don’t know what that is, it means he does stunts. Sometimes those stunts are dangerous.”

Gordon’s arrogance only inflames your anger more. “I am completely aware that his job comes with risks,” you shout. “But those risks shouldn’t come from a toffee-nosed director who thinks human life is something to play with like a deck of cards.”

You feel Colt stiffen beside you, and his grip on your arm grows firmer. “Hey, it seriously is okay,” Colt assures you. “Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Colt. If that train had been a few seconds off count, you wouldn’t be part of this conversation. You’d be in pieces on the train tracks.”

Gordon raises his hands to cut in, replacing the harshness in his voice with honey. “Listen, my dear, let’s just keep a clear picture of who you are, all right? You’re here to make the sets look good. You do that very nicely, and I appreciate it. So why don’t you keep your little toffee-nosed opinions off the set where the actual movies are being made, okay?”

You feel a shift in Colt’s body language again, but this time, it’s directed towards Gordon. You stand your ground, shooting a steely-eyed stare at the director that would make any action star proud.

“I bet your producers wouldn’t appreciate hearing that you risked the life of their top stuntman,” you tell him softly.

Gordon laughs out loud at that, as do a few of the crew members standing around him. “Listen, sweetheart, the producers pay me to make their movies look good,” he informs you. His voice changes then, affecting a curious, offended tone. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on a little crusade lately about doing everything with practical effects? You want to change your stance and say I should do all the stunts in VFX? Your boyfriend will be out of a job if I do that.”

A few more crew members laugh, trying to reduce some of the tension that is radiating between you. You know you’re the only person who’s freaking out about Colt’s close call — it’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before — but you can’t help feeling like this is important.

“You absolute scumbag,” you hiss at Gordon. “You seriously are going to play this off like it’s just part of the process? Colt almost died—”

Holly comes up on your other side now, setting a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

“I bet your producers would have loved to hear about that—”

“You need to calm down—” Holly says more firmly.

“And don’t you dare try to throw my own words at me like I’ve supported you risking people’s lives for a cool shot—”

Colt’s voice now. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” you explode, your voice echoing through the train station. “I mean, am I seriously the only one who sees any value in your life?”

Your comment is heavy, and everyone seems to feel the weight of it. Gordon hesitates, his eyes flicking back and forth between you, Colt, and Holly as if to make sure he’s not about to be physically attacked. The usual buzz of the crew is dead silent.

Finally, Gordon clears his throat and says dismissively, “If you’ve got a problem with me, kid, talk to the studio and see if they care. I can promise you they won’t.” He takes one step closer to you, and in a lower voice adds, “And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut about my processes. You’re good at your job, and I’d hate for you to have to get kicked off set just because you can’t keep your personal life separate from your professional one.”

With that, Gordon whirls around and walks back to the cameras to review the shot.

You’re still trembling with anger, your voice drying up in your throat as you realize that everyone in the crowd is still staring at you. You’re not ashamed of what you said, but you’re embarrassed that everyone on set had to witness it.

Ducking your head, you pull away from Colt and Holly and start walking out of the train station set. Only when the warm afternoon air hits your face do you realize tears have been streaming down your cheeks.

Colt is just a few steps behind you, and you look at him wordlessly, trying to read his expression. There’s not a trace of anger or confusion in his eyes — just a deep gratitude and affection. He slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the set.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The irony of that question isn’t lost on you. “This isn’t about me, Colt,” you state bluntly. You raise questioning eyes to him. “Does it really not bother you that he jeopardized you? Completely unnecessarily?”

Colt shrugs, his brow furrowing as he thinks. He seems so calm now, no traces of the panicky fear he couldn’t hide immediately after the stunt. “If I felt like it was unsafe,” he says carefully, “I would have jumped off the track no matter what he said.”

Another second, and it would have been too late.

“I know,” you acknowledge, a hint of emotion creeping into your voice. “I just… I don’t know. Just… seeing everyone act like it’s so casual and not important. Like your life doesn’t even make that much of a difference—”

“Hey,” Colt murmurs, stopping and turning you to face him so he can put both hands on your shoulders. “You are reading way too far into this, Picasso. No one is trying to eradicate my existence here.”

His tone is light and his eyes twinkling, and you know he’s trying to get you to laugh this off. But you just can’t.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just hate that it seems like I’m the only one who cares if you live or die. Including you.”

Your last statement makes Colt pause. You see the hesitation in his eyes as he mulls over what you’re implying. “Not true,” he replies at last, pulling you back under one arm as you resume walking towards the tents that have been set up for the crew.

“Really? Because you act like you don’t care.” Your voice holds no edge, no accusation. “You get more and more reckless with every stunt, and it just… it kills me to watch.”

You know you’re saying too much. You know you’re pushing the “just friends” agreement. But you can’t stop.

Colt takes his time responding to that. Suddenly, he seems to be really listening to the hidden meanings in your words, realizing that your outburst toward Gordon was indicative of something a lot deeper, something that you’re trying to communicate to him now. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your side, the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder. His steps are perfectly synchronized with yours.

“Look, I don’t have a death wish,” Colt explains at last, a serious note in his voice. “This is my job; I love the danger that comes with it. It’s like I said, both of us do our jobs because it’s our passion, no matter the risks.”

You shake your head. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was mad at you.”

Colt genuinely chuckles at that. “Believe me, it was obvious who you were mad at.”

“I guess I overdid it, huh?” You can feel some of the intense anger in your chest melting, and you let yourself release a slight laugh as you realize just what a spectacle you made: screaming at one of the world’s top directors on his own set.

“Maybe a little,” Colt confirms kindly. Once the two of you step inside one of the empty tents, he lifts his arm off your shoulders, and you turn to lean back against one of the wooden tables so you can face him. His face is still smeared with grime, and it suddenly reminds you of the moment you shared a few weeks ago, marking each other’s faces with your oil paints.

“I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it,” you concede, letting your gaze fall to the ground. “I just… felt like it needed to be said after literally everyone on set witnessed it.”

Colt nods, smirking at you and crossing his arms to lean against one of the structure beams. “Hey, I appreciated it,” he says with a wink. “No one’s ever challenged a director to demand safer working conditions for me.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” you shoot back, your heart speeding up.

“Maybe.”

The moment falls quiet. The tent is empty besides the two of you, and all you can hear is the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind against the flaps of the tent. Colt tilts his head back against the beam he’s leaning on, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. You can tell that this stunt took a toll on him, even if he’s not showing it.

Without warning, all the feelings you’ve been hiding for the last few months threaten to spill out of your lips. Maybe it was seeing him so close to death; maybe it was your impassioned rant; maybe it’s just what happens when you love someone with the desperation of a drowning person reaching for air.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “I really do care about you, you know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes or lift his head back up. “Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

His tone is humorous, but you’re not letting it go now that you’re committed. It’s now or never. “No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I know we’re just doing the friendship thing, but either way, I really care about you.” Colt lifts his head to fix his eyes on you, and you choose your next words carefully so he won’t misunderstand your meaning. “If you ever think that no one cares if you survive the stunts or not, I hope you know it’s not true. There’s one person in the world who would probably go insane without you around.”

Colt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t sound completely serious either when he responds, “Ah, you’d be fine.”

“Please tell me you don’t honestly think that.”

“Look, Picasso, I’m just one guy in the world,” Colt reminds you, shaking his head as if he’s explaining something very simple. “You’re going to meet thousands in your career, which I know is going to be super long and super star-studded. You’ve got everything in your life to look forward to.”

You frown at him, caught off guard by his seemingly off-topic response. “Colt, what are you even talking about?”

He swallows hard, looking off to the side and trying to disguise the emotion tinging his voice. “I’m just… trying to tell you not to put so many big expectations on me. I’m the kind of guy who can only let you down.”

Your heart plummets at his words, and suddenly everything falls into place in your mind. He does care. He’s always cared. He just won’t show it because he thinks he isn’t good enough. The most wonderful man in the world thinks he isn’t good enough.

“That is not true,” you declare, standing up straight for emphasis. “You’re the kindest person I know, and the smartest, and the bravest, and the funniest—”

“I think you’re confusing me with Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not joking around, Colt. When I’m with you, I can just be myself, and I know you’re going to be there for me. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you act like you only remember me at my best. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep getting this feeling that everything in my life has led up to meeting you. Everything you do means so much to me. Every word you say, every minute we spend together is so, so precious to me. You are so precious to me.”

Your speech seems to stun Colt senseless. You have no idea where all that came from — you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to breathe until you had told him what you were feeling. Colt stands still as he processes your words, and you don’t regret a single one.

“Wow,” he finally whispers. “I have no follow-up for that.”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t need one,” you tell him. “I just… felt like I should say it.”

Colt mulls over your words again. You wonder if anyone has ever talked to him like this, if you’re really the first one who has ever looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. How could I be? How is it possible that no one else has ever recognized you for the treasure that you are?

“It means a lot,” Colt replies softly. “Seriously, you… you have no idea. Thank you.”

You just nod in response, not sure where to go from here. Colt isn’t acting like himself, overcome by some emotion that you’re not sure of. You don’t know whether to reiterate your statements, or to wait for him to say something, or to just stand in silence together for awhile.

Colt finally breaks the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”

You almost laugh at that, some of the tension sliding out of the atmosphere. “Yeah,” you assure him with a smile. “As long as you are.”

He nods at you, his own smile returning in a quiet sort of way. You’re transfixed by the gentle light reflecting in his eyes, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, when he holds out both arms to you, lifting an eyebrow as an invitation.

You don’t hesitate for a second. Why should you, after you just confessed every secret thought in your heart?

You step into the warm circle of his arms, and he immediately lowers his forehead to rest in the curve of your neck. Colt seems so unsure of himself in this moment, in a way that you’ve never known him to be. He’s trembling slightly again the way he was after he had just leaped off the railroad tracks. You grip your arms around his neck even tighter, and Colt wraps his arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

In that moment, you know your assumption was correct. He does care about you as deeply as you do about him. You can feel it in his embrace, in his very heartbeat. Every time you move to pull him closer, he mirrors your movements, closing every inch of space that has ever separated you. The grimy film makeup on his face rubs off on your neck, but it’s the sweetest touch you ever felt.

Colt catches you off guard when he tilts his head just slightly to the side, just enough that his lips are resting on the side of your neck. His manner isn’t seductive or suggestive: it’s as if he’s just breathing you in, trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms. Your sensitive skin prickles at the sensation, and one of your hands finds its way up to thread in the ragged-cut hair at the base of his neck.

You can feel his impressive strength just by the way he holds you, but you can’t help marveling at the gentleness of his hands when he reaches up to stroke the back of your head, once, twice. When he cradles the base of your neck with all the tenderness of an old lover, your stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s killing you. It’s magnificent.

Colt finally lifts his head from your shoulder, his hand still resting at the back of your head. His thumb moves in lazy circles, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and his eyes drag up your face slowly until they meet your own in a gaze that burns hotter than a supernova.

“I’ve never told you,” you whisper, your breath filling the few inches between your faces, “and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m in love with you.”

The words are hardly out of your mouth when Colt squeezes his eyes closed, a look of pain crossing his face. “Don’t. It’s not worth it,” he whispers back.

“It’s too late for that,” you tell him, tears choking your voice. “You don’t have to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes, just shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in love with me,” he says softly, heartbreakingly. “My destination is a dead-end, and you deserve better than that.”

“Colt, I—”

“It’s better if we don’t go this route,” he tells you, opening his eyes so you can read the seriousness in his words. “You’ve got the most amazing future ahead of you. You’re going to be a lot better off without me dragging you down.”

Your heart constricts at his words. “Don’t you dare try to be noble about this,” you murmur, lifting your hands to frame his face. “You could never drag me down, and I couldn’t care less about what you think I ‘deserve.’ All I care about is you. All I want to do is love you, no matter what happens. If you really don’t feel that way about me, just say so. But if you feel as strongly for me as I do for you, please tell me. Please don’t break this off before we have a chance to even try it.”

The look that wells up in Colt’s eyes speaks to you in a language you’ve never understood before. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s searching for some hint that your words aren’t true, some way he can talk you out of your feelings. Realization dawns in his eyes as he reads the message you’re saying in everything but your words. I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time. You will always be enough for me. My heart is so full of you it barely even feels like it’s mine anymore.

He doesn’t kiss you — the distance between your lips and his feels like an interminable distance — but he lowers his face to yours in a way that is so tender, so intimate that all the breath leaves your body at once. He lets his cheek rest against yours, his beard brushing your skin softly, gently. You let your arms wrap around his neck again to pull him closer, nuzzling the side of his face with yours so he feels your meaning: I don’t ever want to let you go.

When his lips brush against your jaw, right below your ear, you can’t suppress your sharp intake of breath. You feel his hands resting on your waist, pulling you close against him, and you can hear his breath coming raggedly. He’s so different when he’s like this — no false confidence, no alleviating jokes, just the passion he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

You slide your fingers into his hair, and you can feel him react to your touch instantly. He raises his face from where he’s been resting it against yours, savoring in the contact every slow inch he moves. His eyes are closed when he brings his face level with yours again, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that is so effortlessly tantalizing. It takes all your strength not to tip your head back and drown in his kiss.

With his hand still resting on the back of your neck, Colt pulls you in close one more time, letting his forehead touch yours gently. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent that envelops him — pine needles, cinnamon, and something salty. One moment more, just enough to savor how it feels to be wrapped up in the very essence of him, and Colt pulls back, releasing you from his hold.

“I just can’t do it to you, Picasso,” Colt says, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart plummets at his words. It wasn’t enough. All of it wasn’t enough to convince him of your love. Your words are the opposite of what you want to say, but you know there can be no other response. “If that’s what you want,” you answer quietly. “I’ll respect it.”

“I know.”

You take a few steps back, trying to ignore the agony that is so obvious is his voice. Colt still looks like he wants to snatch you back into his arms and beg you to repeat the confession you just laid at his feet, but he doesn’t. He’s too strong, too stubborn, too sure he’s truly doing the right thing by letting you go. You don’t try to talk him out of it. You love him too much to try to change his mind.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You take care of yourself,” you murmur with a sad smile. “I mean it.”

“I will.” Colt doesn’t even attempt a smile back, the ache in his heart obvious on his face. His gaze wanders over your face for a moment longer, and then he turns and ducks out of the tent.

Once he’s gone, all you can do is bury your face in your hands and weep.

[artdcnaldson]

okay but PLEASE elaborate on Olympics!Art AU

TeeHee

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), feral obsessive behavior, infidelity

A/N: And you would do it too, that’s all I’m saying. Also IMPORTANT note: I love Tashi, she is a mother to many. However this fic has a very obsessive reader who just wants to fuck a married man, at Tashi’s expense

Maybe you were a bad person.

You’d met Art and Tashi Donaldson before— a year back at an event held for Tennis’ rising stars. That was you, some other guys who had done well in the Juniors, a girl from an Ivy League, and more people that fell into the blind spots of your interest..

You must’ve looked so sweet in your formalwear, approaching the couple with shaking hands so you could say just how big of a fan you were. You had no ill intent then, not when you were face to face with two people you’d idolized since you were twelve and watching the Junior US Open. That night you’d taken a deep breath as you stared at the ceiling of your home, feeling like you’d made it.

Sure, Art was handsome, and you’d lived the past decade harboring a massive celebrity crush on him, but he was married, he was untouchable. Art Donaldson oozed that sweet, devoted husband shtick. Anniversary posts, birthday posts, Valentine’s Day posts, Mother’s Day posts. He had a daughter, he posted about how much he loved being a dad.

You were fine accepting that your fantasies of fucking Art Donaldson were strictly fantasies. But that was before you qualified and had to see him every fucking day.

Art Donaldson, who held open doors for you, who talked to you casually, like he might an old friend. Art, who stood in the long line in the food court with you, ate something he probably shouldn’t have, and asked that you don’t tell Tashi.

And you’d smile conspiratorially, and assure him his secret was safe with you. The implication being that you’d keep that secret, and more. As many as he’d ask you to, really.

You’d see him on a practice court, running drills with his wife, and feel the heat of jealousy in the pit of your stomach. You’d turn away, focus on your own game, practice until your hands were aching and sore.

“Where’s Mrs. Donaldson?” You asked one night after you’d been sexiled and had to sit out in the hallway waiting for your roommate to finish up. Art leaned against the wall, standing tall above you, so you had to crane your neck. You liked that point of view, on your knees looking up at him, you wondered if he liked it too.

“Oh, she’s staying in a very nice, very expensive hotel room with our daughter right now,” he said with a grin. “As soon as my events are done, that’s where I’ll be too.”

“Oh,” you said, bringing an easy smile to your lips. “Well, we’re all glad you’re here now.”

“We?” He questioned.

You gave a coy smile, batting your lashes so sweetly. “Maybe just me.”

There was a strange expression on his face for just a moment. Then he laughed like it was nothing. He wished you a goodnight and good luck in your matches the next morning, and disappeared into his own room.

You medaled in women’s doubles. They published photos of you and your partner biting the silver between your teeth. That same day, Art Donaldson took home gold. You were there to see the very end of his last match— every single collision of racket against ball, every step, every grunt of exertion. Your thighs clenched as you watched, fists balled up in the fabric of your skirt.

You wanted him in a needy, desperate sort of way. Like a groupie for a rock band, or a virgin being sacrificed on a mountaintop. You watched him celebrate with a kiss from Tashi and felt that same need like an open wound. Jealousy was festering in you like a rot.

The dive bar wasn’t what you’d expected. Something Art had found with a quick google search and a few minutes with a translation app. He’d knocked on your door to invite you, wearing the beaming smile of someone on top of the world.

“So you’ll come?” He asked after he told you all about it.

“Mhmm,” you said, heart hammering against your ribs. “I’ll come.”

And there you were— in a dress that hardly qualified as such— standing so close to him that you could smell his expensive cologne. His arm would brush yours, he’d glance over and apologize with a warm hand to your arm. You’d clench your thighs together and peer at him through your lashes. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.

A few of the other players disappeared to play darts, or watch the late night coverage of the other sports still competing. You stuck by Art’s side, happily allowing his attention to fall on you completely.

“I saw parts of your doubles final,” he said finally. He was drinking a brand of beer you’d never seen before— something local, you supposed. “You looked beautiful out there.” Your eyes lit up, and then he added. “The way you were playing, I mean— it was phenomenal.”

“Well, I’m no gold medalist,” you said. You let your hand rest on his arm, and looked up at him. The fingers on your other hand toyed with the edge of the medal, warm from where it had been flush against his chest.

He swallowed. You felt his muscles flex beneath your touch, but he didn’t discourage it. Not one fucking bit.

It wasn’t lost on you that Tashi wasn’t there. Not that it was really her type of venue, from what you had gathered. It wasn’t lost on you that Art Donaldson was at a dive bar, drinking random Brazilian beers, instead of celebrating with his wife, with his daughter. Fuck all those posts on his instagram— if he really was a good husband, a faithful one… that’s the only place he’d want to be.

“I saw your match too. I ran right over after my ceremony to watch,” you confessed. It was hard to concentrate on anything else— you were standing so close to him that you were nearly pressed completely into his body.

His lips twitched in interest. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Mhmm. It was incredible. You were so dominant out there, just taking what was rightfully yours.”

He swallowed again, gravitating closer. Your tits were practically spilling out of your dress— he probably got the perfect eyeful when he eased you closer with a firm hand on your lower back, when he looked down at you through blown pupils.

“You looked so fucking hot out there, Art,” you said, lips brushing against his jawline. “You can’t even imagine how it felt sitting there, watching you win. How turned on I got… how wet.”

Art exhaled a shuddery breath. “Jesus Christ.”

It must’ve been a while since he had someone want him this bad, you thought. Clearly he needed it— needed a pretty, sweet thing to tell him just how much they wanted him. You could be that. You could do that.

“I’m not wearing panties,” you whispered in his ear. His grip on you tightened and you had to suppress a giddy smile. “You can feel if you want. I won’t tell.”

He swore under his breath and glanced around. Everyone was too occupied or drunk to give a shit about what the two of you were up to.

He grabbed your hand, pulled you away into the bathroom. You looked pretty even then, in the flickering lights, sat up on the edge of the sink eagerly awaiting his attention.

When he wrenched your thighs apart, he was greeted by the pretty sight of your glistening cunt— sticky with arousal and need. His hand fit there perfectly, right where you needed it.

“Fuck,” you gasped. His fingers rubbed through your slit— wet and hot and aching for him. Your head fell back, knocking against the dirty mirror. “Want you to use me— whatever you want, just take it.”

And you meant it too. This was your teenage idol— a man you’d touched yourself to the thought of countless times. He owned your body, your sexuality, as much as you did. It was only fair he took from it whatever he pleased.

You watched with hungry eyes as he fumbled with the button of his pants, then shoved them down just enough to free his dick.

Your mouth fucking watered with the need to feel it on your tongue, nudging against the back of your throat. You weren’t opposed to begging— you nearly started before you got it into your hand.

Warm, thick, pulsing. Precum beaded at his tip, so you smeared it around the sensitive head of his cock with your thumb. He groaned, bucked into your fist once, twice before he moved your hand.

“Spread your legs wider for me,” he said, slapping the inside of your thighs. You obeyed wordlessly, spreading yourself out invitingly. He pressed closer, so you felt him rutting his dick against your pussy, coating it in your arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet.”

The words came out with equal parts disgust and awe. He probably thought you were a slut with the way you were throwing yourself at him. You wished he’d just call you that, spit it in your face.

Your cunt pulsed with need, aching to be filled up finally. The culmination of years of fantasizing. Art pressed himself against your entrance, sinking himself into you with the slow reverence of a man who liked making love.

He buried himself inside of you and had to stop moving to keep from cumming then and there. He was a perfect image of restraint— the way his fingers dimpled the flesh of your hips in a bruising grip.

Art wanted to be a gentleman— to give you time to adjust to the size of him, to ease you into it and let the pleasure be a slow, soft burn. He pulled out nice and easy, slid himself into your wet, throbbing cunt. That was all fine and good, but you knew it was just pretense. You were laid out and wanting, begging for him to use you as his own personal toy.

“I’m not your wife, Art.” You met his gaze, locked your ankles around his waist. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The first thrust, the first real one, knocked the air from your lungs. That silence didn’t last long— because you got what you wanted— he was really fucking you, bullying his cock into your pussy with the same need and desperation that you felt.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve— fuck— you’ve got no fucking self respect, huh?” He pounded into you, leveraging his grip to pull you against him, really impale you on his dick.

The moan that escaped you was pornographic. If he kept talking to you like that, if he kept fucking you like that, you’d cum.

“You don’t even care, do you? This fucking pussy’s squeezing me so tight— you fucking love this,” His voice was strained, interrupted by groans and pants.

You moaned, eyes rolling back. “Love this,” you echoed. When you looked down, at the sight of him splitting you open, of the ring of creamy arousal circling the base of his dick, you felt dizzy. Like you were standing on top of a tall building and looking down. Sort of out of body, tethered in the present by brutal thrusts into your pussy and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies joining.

Your fingers moved between your thighs, rubbing needy and insistent at your clit. So close to finishing that you wanted to cry and just ask to start over again, that you’d savor it more a second time.

“Gonna cum,” he groaned suddenly. You felt him start to pull out, to leave. It wasn’t fucking fair.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— not yet, you didn’t want it to end like that. “I have an IUD,” you lied through your teeth. You used your legs, pulled him closer, deeper. “Just keep going, don’t stop. I’m right there.”

He moaned against your throat— holding you tight, fucking into you with animal need. Your fingers moved against your clit with an insistent need. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge. Your moans so loud that Art had to put his medal between your lips to shut you up.

And you were so pliant— letting him drill into your aching, used cunt, your mouth tasting like metal. You felt his rhythm falter— one, two harsh thrusts that knocked muffled moans from you until he came, painting your insides thick, creamy white.

He stayed buried inside of you for a while— panting, doing his best to catch his breath. You spat out the medal and it fell back against his chest, spit slick and shining. You reached up, ran your fingers along his face, reverently, sweetly. A lock of hair fell into his eyes and you tucked it away with delicate fingers.

When he pulled out, you felt that sinking feeling of loss and jealousy in your chest. He redressed in silence, turned away like he couldn’t stand to look at you, or the mirror. Shame rolled off of him in waves that you wanted to brush away.

It wasn’t bad, you’d assure him. You’re a tennis star, you’re the greatest in the world. You should have whatever you want, whenever you want it.

But you didn’t say that. You just tidied yourself up as best as you could and slipped back out into the bar. If anyone noticed, they said nothing.

[vintagebishx]

JUST THE TWO OF US theodore nott

PAIRINGS: theodore nott x slytherin!reader

WARNINGS: smoking, nothing too serious

SUMMARY: in which, it’s just the two of them after curfew…

THE GREAT LAKE, also known as “the black lake”. it was a large body of water that everybody knew about but nobody dared to swim in. well, everyone but y/n. for her, the lake was a way to escape from the realities of the harsh world, she loved having some time to herself.

y/n stood amongst the bodies of water, she stood there with her naked body as she watched the sun go down. a sense of ease and relaxation taking over her entire body as if it was medicine that helped cure whatever illness she had.

the pressures of juggling school, life, and her thoughts seemed to have disappeared. this was what life was about to her.

it was about being able to take time out of your day and do what you love. and although she wasn’t allowed to be here and definitely not at this time, she didn’t care for the rules.

she took one last look at the scene of the orange and pink sky before diving into the lake and swimming. the water was almost refreshing on her skin as she felt it moisturise her perfect features.

she spent at least five minutes swimming before she grew tired. she brought her head back up to the surface, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath of the fresh oxygen in the air.

“you shouldn’t be here l/n.” a familiar voice spoke, causing y/n to look up and realise who it was.

theodore nott.

the boy that every girl wanted. well, accept y/n.

and that was what pulled him closer to her. he spent the last year trying to get the girls attention but she just never looked at him, or even bothered to mutter a word to him. also, it wasn’t a secret that y/n was gorgeous. she had every boy in Hogwarts practically on their knees for her but just like how she treated theo, she never paid any mind to their existence and their pathetic attempts to impress her.

“well why not?” she spoke. she tilted her head to the side as she stared right at him, her voice loud as he was stood a little far from her at the dry land.

the water was now warm to her in comparison to when she first dived in, it was cold and unbearable then but now, she wanted to stay in the water forever.

“well for starters, it’s well past curfew. how’d you even get out?” he ask with a confused tone, the girl never failed to surprise him.

"don't worry about that." she told him, “why don’t you come in nott, your not shy are you?” she spoke in a teasing tone with her eyebrows furrowed and she stared at him.

theo suddenly grew quiet at her question, he truly didn’t know what to say and was sure as hell not going to open his mouth either. her expression soon changed as a seductive smile appeared on his face to show that she was just playing with him.

“i’m just playing with you nott, loosen up a little.” she spoke as she broke the silence between them, “i’m gonna get out anyways, my muscles are getting tired.” she continued before swimming black closer to the land that theo was stood on.

theo watched as the girl got up from the water, her naked body now visible to his bare eyes as he watched her shake her hair, lean her head back, and glide her hands against her wet hair in order to remove as much water as she can. his mouth was slowly agape as he watched the scene play out in front of him, it was as if everything was moving in slow motion. his cigarette found its way back into his mouth as he let the toxic smoke fill his lungs, he watched in awe as the girl played with her dark, luscious hair.

as time passed, he had grown rather intrigued at how peaceful the girl seemed amongst this scenery. he began to wonder if he should’ve even stepped foot into what was clearly her comfort zone. his low eyes carefully travelled down her perfectly crafted body as if it was his last time ever seeing her again. he was fascinated with all her curves and every single inch of her body.

he watched as she carefully put her school uniform back on her body. she had slipped her short skirt on and longsleeve shirt on that she had left unbuttoned at the top, her slytherin tie was lazily tied as she really didn’t bother who saw her since everybody except theo and her were in their rooms.

his eyes stayed glued to her as he watched her walk closer, and closer to him. the smoke that was just in his mouth, found it’s way out as he slightly parted his lips, permitting it to exit and make its way to y/n’s face.

she was now stood in front of him.

she took a moment to scan his face. her head was tilted to the side as she first examined his soft hair, then his ever so low eyes, her eyes then made its way to his nose. everything about the man that she rarely ever paid attention to was so perfect.

meanwhile, theo was feeling the pressure.

he out of nowhere had the Hogwarts IT GIRL extremely close to him, examining his face as he could feel her light breaths against his soft skin. he felt his heart skip a beat as the nerves began to take over his system. at that moment, he knew that the students of Hogwarts weren’t being dramatic when they said that “her presence alone was truly enough to make you forget your own name”.

her eyes then finally flickered down to the boys’ soft lips and the cigarette that was placed in between them. y/n didnt hesitate to bring her hand up to the cigarette, and removing it from his lips with her fingers. theo watched as she licked her lips before putting the cigarette stick in between her own.

her eyes went from his lips to his eyes as she wasted no time in inhaling the toxic smoke. her eyes stayed on his as she felt that familiar feeling in her lungs, a feeling that brought back many memories for her.

y/n let the feeling linger in her body for a few more seconds before finally exhaling and letting the smoke find its way to theo’s face, to which he didn’t react. a smile crept onto the girls’ face s she watched the scene play out, satisfied with what she had just done.

“i- um, i didn’t know you smoked.” theo finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between them, “i guess you don’t know a lot about me theo.” she replied.

the girl turned her gaze from theo, to the scenery surrounding them. she looked to make sure that nothing was creeping or lurking through the wooded and isolated area.

“why are you out here?” she asked him as she looked back at him, his fluffy hair blew as the wind passed them both.

“did you follow me or something pretty boy?” she asked him while furrowing her eyebrows, “what? no!” he quickly replied as he blew out more smoke from his mouth.

“i saw you sneaking out, i just had to make sure you didn’t get lost, or kidnapped.” he justified himself, a smile plastered on y/n’s face.

“so your telling me that Hogwarts playboy cares about me?” she asked with slight sarcasm evident in her tone, “wow, i am truly flattered”.

a laugh escaped the boys’ mouth at her words. as his laughter died down, he took a moment to appreciate how the moonlight lit up her face. she looked beautiful.

“playboy huh, who told you that?” he asked her as he slightly furrowed his eyebrows, “a handful of girls actually.” she simply answered a she tilted her head to the side.

“i didnt take you as someone who listened to what others said, it’s all bullshit.” he stated.

y/n tilted her head back, she stayed silent for a few seconds as she lightly bit her lip and quickly scanned her eyes over his perfect face.

“you don’t have to lie theodore.” she began, “it’s just the two of us, you can always tell me the truth.” she spoke in an endearing tone.

his breath hitched as their chests almost touched. she just stood their, letting her beauty captivate, and manipulate him. she continued to keep her eyes glued on him, his silence was pleasure to her as she could most definitely sense his nerves.

a smirk found it’s way to the boys’ face, “well you can always find out for yourself.” he suggested.

y/n smiled at his words, exposing her perfect, straight teeth.

“correct me if i’m mistaken, but it sounds like your offering a date?” she asked him, to which he nodded. she slightly taken aback by his confidence. i mean, she had heard all about his confidence and cockiness, but she had never seen it happen firsthand.

his cigarette rested between his lips as he really just appreciated the moment that they had away from everyone else. her glistening, almond shaped eyes looked up at his which made him swear that he felt his heart beat even faster.

all of a sudden, y/n let out a small chuckle.

he stared at her with confusion all over her face, did i mess up or something? he asked himself.

“that was cute theodore,” she began, “but if you seriously think it’s that easy to get a hold of me, you must actually be as cocky as people tell me you are.” she continued.

her words took him by surprise as he had never encounter a girl like her, someone who actually rejected him.

“i love the way your hair looks though.” she casually said, her hand reaching up to his hair and ruffling it before taking her hand away, grabbing his cigarette from his mouth, putting it in her own, and walking away.

theo just stood their, completely confused at what had just happened. but he had to admit, his ego was slightly deflated at her words but he was willing to keep trying.

WRITER SPEAKS!

a little short but first ever time posting my writing on here😝

border creds: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[cupidcures]

When Tulips Kiss | Hwang Hyunjin SMAU

CHAPTERS: 𝜗𝜚 ten | eleven | 𝜗𝜚 twelve

WORD COUNT: 2.1k (not proofread)

nintendo

“Are you sure this is a good idea…” You paused and laughed nervously as you near the place where they all lived, and that’s including the one and only, Hwang Hyunjin. “I don’t wanna intrude on you and your friends’ personal space.” You finished and fidgeted with the basket of fruits you made for them. Although they made it clear that you’re welcome any time, you can’t help but feel like you shouldn’t come, especially considering how things were before. But maybe it’s better to leave things in the past and forget about it? You felt a gentle pressure as you looked to the right of you and saw Minho squeezing your shoulder with a softened expression.

“You’ll be fine, I already told the boys and they’re fine with it. If you don’t want to then it’s totally okay and I could walk you back to your dorm, but if the only reason why you’re hesitating is because you’re nervous about my friends, they’re really nice I promise. They’ll love you, and you’ll love them too.” Minho reassured you gently to try to loosen you up a bit and ease you, and it worked, sorta.

“Okay, I’ll come. Sorry about that, just nervous that’s all. Now let’s go!” You lifted your head up to look more confident as the man beside held your hand and led you toward the front door. It doesn’t take very long until you get there, probably 10-20 seconds until Minho takes his keys out with a jingle and unlocks the door, opening wide for you to enter. You thank him, but the moment you enter, you could feel the confidence slowly seep out of your body. Looking back at Minho for confirmation, he nods at you to continue, and you sigh and take your shoes off, leaving them by the entrance. You shook off the nervous feeling you were experiencing the best you could, as the fragrant aroma came to your attention.

“What’s that smell?” You asked as your stomach grumbled, leaving you to chuckle shyly and Minho to laugh at you, in a lighthearted way of course.

“When I told the group chat that I was bringing you over, Felix wanted to make some ramen so you had something to eat while you were here. That means he cares about you, by the way.” He responded and took you to the dining room where you placed the fruit basket, then to the living room to meet his friends. In real life, this time. Chan was on his phone scrolling, Changbin and Jeongin were playing Super Smash Bros on the TV, and you assumed Felix was in the kitchen. Gosh, you can’t think of any other time when you were this nervous before, and you don’t understand why. You didn’t have trouble with socializing even if you were more on the quiet side. Maybe it’s because you guys didn’t have a good first impression?

“Hey guys I’m back, this is Y/N as you all already know.” Minho introduced and grinned proudly as they all turned their head to the both of you as you shyly waved.

“Hello!” You greeted them as they all said their responses.

“Hey Y/N, you look great!”

“Y/Nnieeeee hello!!~”

“Y/N HI!! SORRY, I’M ALMOST DONE, I’ll bring it over there as soon as it’s ready!!”

“Y/Nnie we’re so glad you’re here! Come watch us play!” Jeongin beamed and took you away from Minho before sitting you down on the couch, fist-bumping Changbin while you were at it. You watched as Jeongin won against Changbin in every single race and how Chan would cheer and pat him on the back, then go to comfort Changbin who stood up and threw a fit as a joke, prompting everyone in the room laughed at his childish behavior. Minho sat down next to you after coming back from… Well, you don’t really know, but somewhere in the house. Felix eventually came out from the kitchen, bringing out seven bowls of ramen for all of us to enjoy. Wait.. seven?

“Ramen is ready!!!!!” Felix exclaimed with a shit ton of energy before sitting down on the floor.

“Thank you for the meal, Felix! OH RIGHT! I brought the fruits that you guys wanted in a basket! I’ll get it!” You remembered and got up to the dining room table to transfer the fruits to the living room table instead. The boys erupted in cheers as you brought the fruits out, causing you to let out a light giggle at their excitement.

“See? You fit right in.” Minho whispered in your ear and then gave you a tender smile, which you returned to him. You then turned to Felix to ask him who that seventh bowl was for, that was until a certain someone appeared in your vision. Fuck. And of course, it was for Hyunjin. It totally slipped your mind that he was part of this group. You didn’t know it then, but your gaze on him lingered a little too long for it to be considered normal. His hair was disheveled and his cheeks were glowing bright red. You must’ve been staring for a while because Hyunjin ended up looking your way and made eye contact with you. He raised an eyebrow and you pried your eyes off of his, looking back down at the food.

“Yo Hyunjin! Come on and sit down, let’s all eat together!” Chan patted the space next to him and you sighed to yourself, as the empty space Chan told him to sit at happened to be right in front of you.

Jeongin waited for Hyunjin to sit down before clasping his hands together, “Alright! Thank you for the food! Let’s all eat well!” He cheered and picked up his chopsticks as we all waited for him to take the first bite, then proceeding to eat after he did. The atmosphere in the room was lively and so SO warm. You sat back and observed how everybody interacted with one another, and you smiled to yourself. If you were being honest, you caught yourself staring at Hyunjin more than you’d like to admit, but the way he joked around and messed around with his friends almost made you forget about what happened, and only remember all the good parts about him. Keyword: Almost. You snapped out of it and continued to eat your food, joining in the conversation here and there. You weren’t used to this particular group setting, and it was obvious. At least, to Jeongin, and the guy that you used to know. Almost everyone here was so nice to you and was always trying to include you in on the conversations so you don’t feel left out, and you’re grateful for it. You did your best to flow with the conversations, and for the most part, it worked. You felt your eyelids getting heavy and so you rested your head on Minho’s shoulder and you felt him stiffen up for a moment, before relaxing and wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. You closed your eyes simply just to rest them, but you stayed listening to the conversations the boys held with each other. But in timely fashion, you felt a pair of eyes staring at you after you had closed your eyes. Everything in you told you to not open your eyes, as deep down you knew whose eyes you would meet when you opened yours, but you did it anyway. To your surprise, you made eye contact with Hyunjin once again, but that wasn’t what surprised you. It was the glossy sheen in his eyes that made them sparkle even more than they usually did.

Was he.. about to cry?

Concern and worry flashed through your mind, and you cursed at yourself for still caring for him after everything. You waited until he looked away first, but just like 4 years ago, his eyes stayed on you, and all you wanted at that moment was to be able to read his mind and see what he was thinking. You were sure that if the two of you stayed looking at each other for any longer, someone would notice, so you forced yourself to look away and lift your head off of Minho’s shoulder.

“Everything alright?” He patted your head as you giggled and nodded.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Where’s your bathroom?” You questioned as he told you how to get there, so you thanked him with a kiss on the cheek as the boys around “ooooo’d” at the interaction teasingly. You use the couch as support to help you stand up as you walk your way to the bathroom, once again, feeling a pair of eyes burning the back of your head. You enter the bathroom and close the door just to stare at yourself in the mirror. You let out a conflicted sigh while you took this time to fix your hair and makeup.

“Why did he look like he was about to cry..?” You mumbled quietly to yourself, thinking of all the possible reasons, apparently all possible reasons BUT the most obvious one.

Once you finish putting chapstick on, you open the door to join the rest of the group, only to be pushed back inside by Hyunjin. A rush of emotions rushed over you in an instant as he closed the door behind him and locked the door.

“What are you doing?” Hyunjin crosses his arms, demanding an answer out of you, but all you can do is look at him with a disoriented look. He stares at you a little more longer before exhaling in frustration and brushing his hair back, one of his habits you remember from years ago.

“What’s your goal here Y/N? Why are you doing this to me??” He urged in a hushed manner to not attract any attention from outside.

“I’m doing nothing to you Hwang. Why are you so vague and yet you expect me to know what you’re talking about? I can’t read what’s on your mind so can you please, for ONCE, be forward with it??” You looked away from him, copying his body language and crossing your arms as well. He leaned his head and back against the wall and looked to the floor. He stayed silent for a while, and it was killing you. The silence between the two of you was deafening, the only noises you heard were the distant chatters of your friends in the next room.

“Stop calling me Hwang, please. You know me as Hyunjin and, as far as I know, we’ve passed the surname stage a long time ago…” Hyunjin took a breath in and you turned your attention back on the boy, waiting for him to continue. “You’re hurting me, again. And you don’t even know it. Or maybe you do, and you just don’t care. I hate seeing you around. I hate seeing you laugh and I hate seeing you happy.” Hyunjin takes a step towards you and looks into your eyes, desperately searching for something, but you didn’t know what it was that he was searching for. His words felt like a punch to the gut, and you could feel your lips start to quiver. You already knew he felt this way about you, so why are you so hurt over this?

“Tell me something I don’t know.” You spoke to him in a bitter tone, attempting to cover up the aching feeling in your chest.

God, just let this conversation end already.

“Tell you something you don’t know? Okay. I hate all of it because it hurts me. It fucking hurts seeing you so happy when I’m not even with you, when we hate each other. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was NEVER supposed to be like this, how could you be so happy?” Hyunjin bit his lip, cheeks flushed, partially because of the fact he was still drunk, but mostly because he was embarrassed.

“What do you mean? You hate me that much that you don’t wanna see me happy?” You furrowed your brows together and put your hand under his chin to make him look at you.

“…..Are you serious?” He stared into your eyes in disbelief, looking for any ounce of dishonesty, but there wasn’t any. There was just confusion. And so he laughed, leaving you only more confused.

“Nevermind. Forget this ever happened, I’m drunk anyway. I don’t know what I was thinking. I hate you so much. I hate you so fucking much for ruining us.” Hyunjin stepped back while shaking his head with tears welling up in his eyes, but before you could even open your mouth to say something, he opens the bathroom door and goes inside his room.

Hyunjin locks his bedroom door and throws himself on his bed, exasperated. He convinces himself that it hurts him to see you around and happy because of how much he hates you. But we all know that if you were around for him, if you were happy because of him, if it were him instead of Minho, he would finally realize that it’s not hate that he’s feeling. But it isn’t him, so he’ll never realize it.

a/n: sooo… hyunjin struggles with communication and y/n is painfully oblivious to everything! 🤗 also sorry… i didn’t expect for this part to be a written one ngl

𝜗𝜚 WTK series masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN)! @jeonginplsholdmyhand @jeonginsgirl @mlrroh @mafiulaputaama @seungzsmin @hannie-bees @skz1lov @porang-poranglinos @sillyhal @mitchii @nessas-archive @soulphoenix1618 @gnab-nahc @yongbokkiesworld @hyunjins-dimples @nappynapnaps @0914-space @isagerada

if your blog is underlined, it means i wasn’t able to tag you :’(

[gaymurdersalad]

Oh dear. Will a cup of tea make you less grumpy, Jack?

> Oh, please, don’t act like you all care now.

> Be my guest! Shower the prolific child murderer with such love and care and affection, the likes of which he’s never seen! Fuck everyone else, right? He got a little sick and suddenly he’s the most pathetic thing on the fucking planet. Yeah, swaddle him up, I’m sure it’ll bring those dead kids back.

> Jealous?! Of Dave Miller?! Jesus Christ, do you hear yourself?!

> You all realize who he is, right? Why are you rewarding him with this kind of attention? Don’t you think it’s wrong, don’t you see how… unfair it is?

> I DON’T! I DON’T, I FUCKING HATE HIM!

> God, god— Fuck! Why should Dave, of all people, be taken care of, huh?! Why should anyone care about him at all? He’s killed! He’s hurt people! All he can do is sit there and rot society from the inside out and all you dumbasses do is encourage it! All of you are delusional! Nobody— Nobody cares that I have to undo all the damage, hit every location that Dave or Henry wreak havoc in and fix every atrocity, every murder, console those poor damned plastic headed bastards who are so scared they can barely think straight— let alone think at all, those brainless fucks— Nobody gives a damn! No matter how much I do anyways, those kids still die, they keep fucking dying and I can’t stop it! All I can do is shove them into the afterlife because they’re too young to even know what death is!

> Oh, he’s so lovable! He’s just a little darling, ain’t he? Yeah, well, given the chance, he’d wipe every single one of your grey fuckers out at the slightest insinuation it’d make his precious pink idol happy!

> Fuck all of you! Fuck you for even suggesting I hold any ounce of affection for this purple fucking leech!

> … Old Sport?

> … Is that… Really what you think?

[theolivebranchreview]

My Love Letter to 2000s Network Television

by @arianna_mitchell

As I sit in my cramped apartment, surrounded by the unbridled chaos of unpaid bills, constantly checking my phone to see if “Julia,” the latest messy situation I’ve gotten myself into, has answered any of my embarrassingly numerous consecutive texts, I find myself yearning for an escape. But rather than confront these absolutely terrifying facts of life head-on, I’ve discovered a foolproof method of avoidance: rewatching my favorite early 2000s TV shows.

In times of stress and uncertainty (how badly would you beat me up if I still called these times “unprecedented”?), there’s something incredibly therapeutic about immersing yourself in the familiar comfort of old TV shows. It’s like slipping into your favorite worn-out sweatshirt that you stole from your ex whose last name you’re not actually sure you remember and feeling instantly at ease. These shows, with their dated fashion trends, now-vintage pop culture references, and occasional sprinkles of racism and misogyny that makes your skill crawl, provide a much-needed escape from the pressures of modern life.

But it’s not just about escapism. Rewatching these early 2000s gems is a form of self-care, a way to reconnect with a simpler time and a more carefree version of ourselves. And dude, if you do it right, it’s so much cheaper than therapy. I mean still go to therapy. But if you play your cards right, you can watch damn near 10,000 hours of television for nearly nothing. I’m still using my roommate’s Disney+ account and I haven’t lived with them for almost two years. But it’s okay because they’re on my Hulu (well actually my parents’ Hulu but you get the idea). As we follow the trials and tribulations of our favorite characters, we find solace in their struggles and triumphs. We’re reminded that, no matter how overwhelming life may seem, we’ve overcome challenges before and will continue to do so.

In a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable, these shows offer a sense of stability and familiarity. We know every plot twist, every punchline, and every heartfelt moment. I am so tried of surprises, you have no idea. Well of course you do. You’re a human being living in this god awful year 202_. There’s a certain comfort in that predictability, in knowing that, no matter what happens in our own lives, these characters will always be there, frozen in time, ready to welcome us back with open arms. Sure, sometimes they might be poorly written, poorly filmed, and poorly acted, but I’ll be damned if they aren’t the one constant in my life. And let’s be real, sometimes it’s just nice to watch gorgeous people whose lives are even more of a shit show than your own. Sure, I may be drowning in student loan debt that I haven’t paid in seven months (seriously…is the government going to say anything about that or am I like…good?) and questioning every life choice I’ve ever made, but at least I’m not Marissa Cooper, who seems to attract drama like shit attracts paperclips, or whatever the expression is.

So, as I navigate the stresses of being an actual independent human being out in the world– the impending sense of doom that comes with each new political headline that I try to ignore, the constant pressure from every single direction to have it all figured out, and the nagging feeling that everyone else is more successful than me (seriously, do you guys have like 40 hours in the day, what the hell is going on?) – I find solace in the healing power of nostalgia television. And with that, I press play on another episode of Gilmore Girls, ready to lose myself in the fast-talking, coffee-fueled world of Stars Hollow. Because sometimes, the best therapy is the kind that comes with a side of pop culture references and a heaping dose of early 2000s fashion. And did I mention it’s free? (If you steal it)

So here are some recommendations if you’re unsure of what to (re)watch.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Slaying My Real-Life Demons

When the weight of the navigating the post(?)-pandemic dating scene gets to be too much (and let’s be real, it was pretty terrible long before the world broke), I turn to the ultimate demon-slaying hero, Buffy Summers. As I watch her navigate the perils of high school cliques, teenage romance, and the occasional apocalypse, my own problems seem to fade into the background. Sure, I may be casually drowning in capitalist sludge but at least I’m not tasked with saving the world from literal demons and vampires. And can you believe she did it while wearing low-rise jeans? I swear to God if those actually make a comeback, you will be hearing from the lawyer that I definitely have.

There’s something oddly comforting about watching Buffy and her friends face the end of the world on a weekly basis. It puts things into perspective, you know? Like, sure, I may have paid my rent late four months in a row. It’s not because I didn’t have the money, I literally just forgot. Sorry, Jeff, I just don’t think about you that way. But hey, at least I’m not having to sacrifice my love life for the greater good of humanity. And yeah, I went on three tinder dates this month just because I didn’t feel like cooking and wanted a free meal (but I didn’t sleep with them so it’s not sex work and even if it was, there’s not a damn thing wrong with that, you fascist), but at least I’m not having to balance homework with slaying vampires and preventing the apocalypse.

Buffy’s world may be filled with darkness and danger, but there’s a certain comfort in knowing that no matter how bleak things seem, she and her friends will always find a way to save the day. And if Buffy can do it while rocking some seriously questionable ’90s fashion choices (my lawyer is on standby, kids), then surely I can find a way to navigate the challenges of adulthood without completely losing my mind (though I make no promises when it comes to the questionable fashion choices).

Gilmore Girls: A Caffeinated Escape

Picture this: it’s 2 AM, and I’m elbow-deep in a pint of over-priced, freezer burnt Ben & Jerry’s that I bought from the bodega, scrutinizing how I managed to screw up yet another potential relationship. Enter Lorelai and Rory Gilmore, the fast-talking, coffee-chugging duo who make even the most stressful situations seem manageable with their quick wit and obscure references. They are not perfect, they are not always helpful, they are definitely not real, but they are always there to talk me through a difficult situation. As I watch them navigate the ups and downs of life in Stars Hollow, I can’t help but feel a sense of comfort wash over me. Sure, my problems may not involve a love triangle with a diner owner and a coffee shop entrepreneur, but the Gilmores remind me that no matter how much life (or love) throws at you, there’s always room for a good laugh and a cup (or seven) of coffee.

Screw it. Speaking of love, let’s talk about my latest romantic endeavor, shall we? Enter “Julia,” the girl who I’ve been texting on and off for the past three weeks, analyzing every emoji and exclamation point like it’s the goddamn Da Vinci Code. I know, I know, I’m bordering on being about as clingy as Kirk when he’s trying to win over Lulu, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for a girl with big brown eyes who laughs at my jokes and shares my love of obscure ’90s bands (even if she thinks Hootie and the Blowfish is obscure, bless her heart).

But here’s the thing: watching Lorelai and Rory navigate their own romantic ups and downs reminds me that I’m not alone in my struggles. Lorelai may have a thing for emotionally unavailable men (looking at you, Christopher), and Rory may have a habit of falling for guys who are all wrong for her (ahem, Logan), but they never let their relationship drama define them (looking at you, girl avoiding eye contact in the mirror). They pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and move on to the next adventure, whether it’s opening a new inn or running for student body president.

So, when I find myself obsessing over whether or not to double-triple-quadruple-text Julia (because apparently, I’ve regressed to my teenage self), I channel my inner Lorelai and remind myself that there’s more to life than waiting for a text back. I’ve got dreams to chase, coffee to drink, and a whole world of pop culture references to explore. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll find my own Luke Danes, a partner who appreciates my quirks and keeps me grounded (and caffeinated). But until then, I’ve got the Gilmore girls to keep me company, and honestly, I couldn’t ask for better role models.

Where’s My Central Perk?

When the daily grind of life starts to wear me down, and I find myself longing for the simpler times of coffee shop hangouts and rent-controlled apartments, I turn to my old friends from Central Perk. Rachel, Ross, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe have been there for me through thick and thin, offering a much-needed escape from the harsh realities of the modern world.

But as I sit here, alone in my apartment with only my cats as the only real constant in my life, I can’t help but feel a sense of bitterness toward the corporate greed and capitalistic systems that have fostered a generation of lonely, disconnected individuals. The world of Friends, with its tight-knit community and affordable living situations, feels more and more like a distant fantasy with each passing year.

In a society that prioritizes profit over people, the concept of “third spaces” – those beloved hangouts like Central Perk – is becoming increasingly rare. We paved paradise and put up a Santander. Coffee shops and cafes are being replaced by banks, soulless chains, or empty storefronts always promising development, while local bars and restaurants are being priced out by skyrocketing rents. The places where we once gathered to forge connections and build communities are disappearing, leaving us with fewer opportunities to connect with others.

And let’s not forget the ever-increasing cost of living, which has created a generation of transient twenty-somethings, constantly on the move in search of affordable housing and stable job opportunities. How are we supposed to build lasting friendships when we’re always saying goodbye? Frankly, I’ve just stopped trying.

It’s no wonder that so many of us turn to TV shows like Friends for comfort and escapism. In a world where genuine human connection feels increasingly out of reach, we seek solace in the familiar faces and laugh tracks of our favorite sitcoms. We long for the kind of deep, meaningful friendships that the show depicts, even as we recognize how unrealistic they may be.

But here’s the thing: we can’t let the pursuit of profit continue to erode the very things that make us human. We need to fight back against the systems that prioritize money over people, and work to create a world where genuine connection and community are valued above all else.

Maybe that means supporting local businesses and fighting for affordable housing. Maybe it means creating our own “third spaces,” even if they look different from the ones we see on TV. Or maybe it just means reaching out to the people in our lives, and reminding them that they matter to us, no matter how far apart we may be.

Because at the end of the day, that’s what Friends is really about: the power of human connection, and the way it can help us weather even the toughest of times. And in a world that seems hellbent on keeping us apart, that message feels more important than ever.

So here I am, a single woman sitting alone in her apartment, watching TV with her cats. But I know that I’m not really alone, because I have the love and support of the people who matter most to me. I have my friends from college, I have my friends online, I have this little column that I contribute to whenever I feel like so I can at least feel like an old man yelling at a cloud. And that’s something that no amount of corporate greed or capitalistic bullshit can ever take away.

Conclusion

As I sit here, surrounded by the comforting glow of my laptop screen, I can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the early 2000s TV shows that have been my constant companions through the ups and downs of adulthood. In a world that often feels cold, unforgiving, and increasingly isolated, these nostalgic gems have provided me with a much-needed escape and a reminder of the power of human connection.

From the demon-slaying heroics of Buffy to the quick-witted banter of the Gilmore Girls, these shows have taught me valuable lessons about perseverance, friendship, and the importance of chasing your dreams. They’ve been there for me through breakups, job losses, and countless other challenges, offering a comforting sense of familiarity and a reminder that I’m not alone in my struggles.

But more than that, these shows have served as a catalyst for self-reflection and growth. They’ve inspired me to be braver, kinder, and more authentic in my own life, even when the world around me seems to be crumbling. They’ve reminded me that it’s okay to make mistakes, to be vulnerable, and to lean on the people who matter most.

So, to all the early 2000s TV shows that have been my rock through the turbulent waters of adulthood, I say thank you. Thank you for the laughter, the tears, and the countless hours of comfort and companionship. Thank you for reminding me that, no matter how bleak things may seem, there’s always hope to be found in the power of storytelling and human connection.

And to all my fellow twenty-somethings out there, navigating the challenges of adulthood in an increasingly uncertain world, I say this: keep holding on to the things that bring you joy, the things that remind you of who you are and what you stand for. Whether it’s a beloved TV show, a cherished friendship, or a secret dream that keeps you going, hold onto it with all your might. Because in the end, it’s those things – the things that make us feel seen, heard, and understood – that will carry us through even the darkest of times.

So go ahead, press play on that next episode of Buffy or Gilmore Girls. Let yourself get lost in the familiar comfort of Stars Hollow or Sunnydale. And remember, no matter how lost or alone you may feel, you’ve got a whole gang of early 2000s TV friends waiting to welcome you back with open arms (and maybe even a few outdated pop culture references). Trust me, it’s the best therapy money can’t buy.

[writingroom21]

Sweet Escape

Pairing: Rafe x single mom reader

Summary: Moving to Kildare with your best friend and daughter was the perfect move. The little island is perfect, the people are nice, and you are finally at peace. Then Rafe comes in with his perfect smile and charm, sweeping you off your feet. The only issue is if you are ready to let someone else in.

Warnings: None

Wc: 5.1K

series masterlist

Chapter 1: You again

The breeze blows your hair, obscuring your vision from the boxes in the back of the moving van. The weather was nice here in the outer banks, different to what it felt like in New york. Moving here right when Spring is in bloom was the best decision. Back home it’s still cold, barely even warming up. But here it’s so beautiful. The waves from the water behind the house hit the dock, the lapping sound making its way to the front.

“Grandma is having a blast with Vi right now. I know she’s glad to have a baby in the house again.” Jo your best friend says as she walks into the van to grab another box. It was her idea to move her. Her grandma was getting older and she wanted to come take care of her. When she figured it all out she just handed you tickets, telling you that you weren’t going to stay there longer.

Without consulting you she had talked with her grandma to let you and your daughter Violet to move in with them. She wanted to get you as far away from New York as she could. Jo is the type of best friend that feels responsibility for her friends. It was that way when you were children and it got worse when you had your own child.

The moment you found out you were pregnant she was there to cry along with you. She was there in the delivery room when your precious little girl was born. Every step of your life has been with her, never allowing you to go through it alone. You couldn’t be more grateful to have her in your life.

“That’s good. I’m sure Vi is going to love being around her. Two peas in a pod probably.” You try to not get into your head as you pick up a box of Vi’s things. When you told your parents you were pregnant they weren’t happy. To be fair you were eighteen, fresh out of highschool. They tried to be supportive but couldn’t look past it when their friends from church started to talk.

They had kicked you out right before you gave birth, leaving you to be stranded. The father was a nightmare to say the least and that wasn’t an option for you. He was a mistake that you wish you could take back. A reminder of being what your family wanted to only be their disappointment. He seemed perfect to them but deep down he was a monster, no one you want around your baby to begin with.

The only option you had was Jo. Her family wasn’t like yours, they took you in with open arms. Embracing Violet as one of their own. Even though you lost your family that night they forced you out, you found another that loved you more. For two years it was perfect, Vi was growing up nicely, hitting all her milestones. You had a good job and had saved up enough money to move out on your own. Which was perfect timing since Jo was going to move here.

Then a week after she informed you of her decision you got a call from a lawyer. “Hello?” You answered. “Hi, I'm looking for.”  He says your name for clarification. “Yes, that's me.” You were confused on what this could be about. Worried that it was your ex. “I’m sorry to inform you that your parents passed away the other night in a car accident. The wake will be this week and the Will reading is after.” The shock of their death didn’t settle in fully until the reading.  

They had left you everything, they had abandoned you yet they left you everything. The next few months of winter were filled with you selling their house and settling the bank information. Getting the move ready so you and Vi would be comfortable once in your new home. Leading to now, standing in front of the house that is yours.

Grandma June had a pretty house in a nice neighborhood. The backyard was big and the water was right behind. A complete contrast to what you had growing up. You grew up in a townhouse, Jo right next door. It may have been more room then a regular apartment but you still had little room. There was no backyard to play in, the only time you had outside was going to the park. 

Your life, even if it may not have been bad, wasn't perfect either. Your parents preached religion and the bible until it was shoved down your throat. Telling you what you can’t and can’t do by the eyes of God. Introducing you to their friends' sons to meet the proper boy, look at where that got you. This move was a chance to continue to better yourself and give Vi the chance of being herself. 

You set the box down in the room that is now Violets. June had moved herself to the guest house outback stating that she doesn’t need all of this space. She had given the deed to the two of you, gifting the home as a thank you for not sending her off to a home. That meant you all had your own rooms. Vi still tends to sleep with you so her room is more decoration. 

“Who would have thought we would be here?” Jo’s voice says from the doorway. You turn to look at her. “Me a twenty-one year old with a two year old or that we moved out of New York.” She pounders for a moment, finger tapping her chin. “Hmm I was going to say us moving here but the toddler thing works too.” She laughs walking into the room more.

“We should paint the walls this week. Grams said there’s a paint store we can get it at. Should be near the shop.” You smile at her as you both go to get more boxes. Before moving here you wanted a stable job where you would be able to be with Violet more often. In New York you were a receptionist so you would have to leave her with Jo’s parents. So it was important for you to have the freedom to be with her since you can’t rely on June.

When you were looking around for jobs online you had seen that a flower shop was going for sale. Growing up you had always loved flowers. Books of plants, flowers, and gardening stuffed your bookshelves. With the money that was left to you from your parents you decided to buy it. Was it a long shot? Maybe but it couldn’t hurt to try. This way you will be able to have Vi with you at the shop without paying for a sitter.

With the van unpacked it was close to dinner time. Too tired from the day you and Jo decide to order pizza. But you make Vi her own meal on the side to have. You’re stirring the noodles that are in the pot when tiny footsteps can be heard. “Momma.” A little voice yells. You drop the spoon, turning to squat down. “Vi. How’s my favorite flower doing?” She giggles as you blow kisses on her neck and squeeze her tight. “She’s been such a little angel. Are you sure you don’t want to just leave her with me during the day.” June asks as she walks into the kitchen.

“Oh no I couldn’t ask that of you. Anyway, I want to spend as much time with her as I can. She won’t stay this small forever.” You finish up Vi’s food just in time for the pizza to get there at the same time. You all sit down and eat. You cut up tiny pieces of your pizza to let Vi try to see how she will like it. The table laughs when she smacks her lips and signs for more. 

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. Your routine consisted of giving Vi a bath and putting her to bed. Then finishing up some things before tucking in for the night as well. Before you know it the alarm is going off and it is bright outside. It’s seven o’clock so you have roughly thirty minutes before Vi gets up. 

Quickly you head to the bathroom for a shower rushing to head downstairs and start breakfast. When breakfast was finished it was time for her to wake up and you go to her room. Which she actually slept in last night. She’s rubbing her eyes, burrowing her head back into her pillow. “Goodmorning baby girl.” You softly say as you rub her back to gently wake her up more. “Hi momma.” Her voice is like music to your ears, always making you smile.

Slowly but surely she gets up, both of you entering the kitchen to eat. “Morning.” Jo yawns over her coffee mug. “Morning.” Strapping Vi to her chair, you place her plate in front of her before grabbing yours. Jo sits down across from you as she sips from her mug. “Any plans for today?” You finish chewing the piece of toast and look up at the girl in front of you. “Going to the shop. Want to work some stuff out before it opens again.”

“Bug and I can chill her with grams while you do that. I have the day off.” A sigh of relief is released. “Thank you. I need to make sure the ship of flowers is accurate. I need to restart the garden in the back.” Jo let’s out a “damn” while shaking her her. “Good luck with that. That sounds like a lot of counting. Counting yucky, right Vi.” The end is talking to the toddler. Her giggle lighting up the room. 

After finishing Vi’s morning routine you change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The weather was nice but there was still a chill in the air. You walk down the stairs to see Violet on the floor of the living room playing with some toys. “Hi sweetie. Heading out?” June is sitting on the couch smiling at you. “Yup I’m going to the shop today. Do you need anything while I’m out?” She shakes her head and laughs when Vi hands her a toy. “I’m okay. Now go ahead before we keep you here.”

June has been in love with Violet since she was born. She had visited Jo’s family right after you got back from the hospital. From that moment on she was always asking about her and buying her things. She said it was the first baby since Jo so it’s like she has a great grandbaby. Everyone was so kind about you having a baby so young and you couldn’t be more grateful. Which is something you wish you could say about this flower delivery. 

The flowers were delivered yesterday right before you all started to unpack. You had rushed to let them in and place everything inside that you didn’t pay attention to when they did. The previous owners of the shop were older and couldn’t keep up with it anymore. The garden they had in the back that grew some of their flowers was dead and the others wilted a long time ago. So ordering flowers to fill the story was the only option you had.

Which seemed really great at the time but now it doesn’t. You had come in and set your bag down on the counter. Looking around you see the endless sea of flowers staring at you. You go to the back to the office and get the clipboard you had placed there yesterday. Painfully slow you separate the flowers by their species. Having to count every single one was starting to prove to be a difficult task.

One that got even worse when you found out you were short on some flowers. This wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for the fact that they were popular flowers. Roses, tulips, baby’s breath, carnations, all flowers that people love. You were opening up the store in two days and you need to make sure you have a good supply. June had said that a lot of the rich folk like to throw parties and will buy flowers. You need to be prepared just in case.

You were in the middle of counting the Anemone when the store's front door started to rattle. Stepping into view of the door there’s a tall man standing outside with his back to you. He’s on the phone and using his hands to talk wildly. The man turns around again to try the door and sees you standing there. He snaps his fingers at you and points to the door handle that’s locked.

You walk over and unlock it, opening it slightly to ask him what he needs. “Can I help you?” The guy is tall, handsome, his hair is growing out from a previous buzzcut. He has on a shirt that is too tight on him and a pair of khakis, not usually what you find attractive but he pulls it off. “Yeah. For starts you can let me in and second you’ll put my order in.” He holds up a pointer finger at you.

“I know. I’m here right now, if the new girl would let me in it could go faster.” He says into the phone. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll let you know when they will be delivered.” You give him a complex look. “Sorry but we aren’t open right now. You have to come back in two days.” You try to close the door but his foot catches it. “Look, I really need an order for tomorrow. The florist we were using canceled and I need them. There’s a banquet and the stupid tables need flowers.”

 You look back at the store and at him again. It wouldn’t hurt to do this order but you haven’t finished inventory yet. He could be asking for flowers that you can’t even give him. “I’m sorry but I’m not even open yet.” He interrupts you. “Well just open the store up and ring me out. I get you are new here but come on.” His tone is rude, annoyed that this is taking longer than he wants. “No, I can't just open up the store. I’m new here because I just bought it and I don’t even know how many flowers I have yet. So no I can’t help you, I’m sorry.”

He scoffs at you. “Do you normally buy things you don’t know if you can handle or is this a spur of the moment thing? I need those flowers.” This guy really has some audacity. “Do you normally talk down on workers or are you just a asshole?” Your head tilts to the side, looking up at him. The sun is burning your retina is making it hard to see anything but the lower part of his face. Even through the pain you can see the smile that crept on his face.

“Good luck with opening this up. I can clearly see the customer service is subpar.” With that he’s walking off down the street, pulling out his phone to probably call someone else. “Hey asshole, the flower delivery was short with some. So that’s the main reason I can’t help you. Don’t just assume shit.” Without looking back he calls out to you. “Sounds like an issue you need to fix. Try calling them up next time.”

Fuck. Of course you could just have called them this whole time. Quickly, you get back inside to finish the inventory to see what else is missing. After another hour you are done, exhausted from all the back and forth. Sitting down in the back office you call the distributor that you had used, explaining to them which flowers were short and how many you would need. Thankfully the lady on the other end didn’t give you any trouble, telling you she would have them delivered tomorrow. 

By the time everything was done it was around 5:30, which meant you should head home for dinner. The drive back to the house was peaceful. In New York you really didn’t need a car, you had spent most of your time in the city so you took the subway. Every now and then you would have to drive to family in the suburbs, this reminds you of that drive. Seeing the trees and greenery is like a breath of fresh air. 

It was a reminder that your old life was left back States away, no monsters here to haunt you. It’s refreshing knowing you got a new start and that Vi will get to grow up in a good place. When you get home it’s ten minutes until dinner should be served, at least for Vi. She’s on a strict schedule and will get fussy if she doesn’t eat or sleep at the same time.

You were greeted with shouts coming from the living room, footsteps playing the floorboards like a piano. “Momma!” Vi screams when she sees you in the hallway. “Hi pretty girl. How is my favorite doing? Had a good day?” She nods, tiny hands wiping her hair off her face. “Ya. Jo play.” She points to your friend who’s standing behind her. “She’s been making me run around for hours. How do you do this all the time?” 

You pick Vi up, walking towards the kitchen as you give her a bunch of kisses. “Lot’s of coffee and I have amazing people who help me.” Jo throws an arm around your shoulder walking with you. The table was already set, plates filled with food. “Yeah we are pretty amazing. So amazing that grams are giving us the night off.” You place Vi in her seat and look at Jo. “What do you mean?” 

She puts Vi’s food down in front of her before sitting to eat her own meal. “She means that you two are young and need to have fun. So I’ll stay here while this angel sleeps. Have fun for once.” June says as she makes her way back from what you assume is the bathroom. “Before you even try to say anything I told her she didn’t have to. She won’t take no for an answer so tough luck.” You don’t even argue, Jo’s parents always say she got her stubbornness from June so that is not a hill you want to die on.

Over dinner you tell them about your day. Explaining how you found out there were flowers missing and that you had to call for new ones. Finishing off your story telling with the asshole who thought he was special so that made him entitled to your flowers. “Sounds like a dick.” Jo said without thinking about the two year old sitting next to her. “Sorry.” June thought it was hilarious. Saying “it’s about time someone told those snobs the world doesn’t revolve around them.”

After dinner you spent time with Violet. Playing some more with her toys, then a bath to get the dirt off of her, and then reading bedtime stories to her. After each one she would let out a “nader'' informing you she wanted another story. The third one is always when she falls asleep, as soon as the first words are out so is she. Slowly and quietly you slip out of her bed and room.

“Ready?” Jo’s voice scared you, jumping from the fear shooting through your body. “For fucks sake Jo. Let me just change into a different shirt, I have Vi drool.” The other girls face twists in disgust as you pull that part of your shirt to show her. Not the worst thing you’ve had on you since becoming a mother but she still finds it gross. After changing the two of you head over to a bar.

The place actually looks really nice. There are lights strung up on the outside seating and the inside has amazing decorations. “What do you want? I’ll go get us the first round while you find us a table.” The first round? Damn Jo meant it when she said we will be living up the night. You haven’t really been out since your 21st, having a daughter doesn’t give you a lot of time to go out.

Plus you never really drank in highschool so this is a whole new ballpark for you. “Um I don’t know. Just get me something you will think I’ll like.” With that she was off to the bar as you found a table to sit at. The drink she came back with was in a tall glass and is yellow. You take it from her hands inspecting it. “What is it?” She rolls her eyes at you and takes a sip from her drink. “It’s a passion fruit mojito.”

You like passion fruit so this should be good. Oh yeah, that drink is delicious. You take a good few sips of it. “That’s fucking delicious.” Jo laughs at you. “Told you.” The two of you sit there for a while. Taking your time to finish your drinks. When they were done it was your turn to go up and get drinks. Since Jo is driving back she just wanted water but she insisted that you had to keep drinking.

The bar is a little more packed now, so you’re stuck waiting for the bartender to come around. Tapping your fingers lightly on the counter surface you space out, not realizing that the seat next to you was moving. “He won’t notice you for another five minutes. Blaire just sat down so he’ll be chatting her up for a bit.” The voice next to you sounds familiar, turning your head you can see why. “You again.” The guy from earlier smirks at you. “Now why does that sound like a bad thing?”

You look down at the other end of the bar to see the bartender flirting with a girl. Crap. “Maybe because you were rude and entitled. But hey what do I know?” Your brain is telling you to leave, just tell Jo you’ll go back up in a little. Then there’s a little voice in your head telling you to stay. For some reason there’s a part of you that is curious about the stranger.

“Pfft me entitled or rude? You’re the one who said that you wouldn’t let me order flowers.” Your eyes narrow at him, his arms shoot up in defense. “I know your shipment was fucked up.” He gives you a curious look. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“That’s because I just moved here. Don’t really know anyone besides my friend and her grandma.” You point back to Jo, his eyes following to see your friend with a wide eyed expression. “I don’t think I know her. Think I’ve seen her before but years ago.” He looks back at you, examining your facial features. You’re really pretty, he was too wrapped up in frustration earlier to notice. He’s sure noticing it now though. 

His chair seems to get closer to you, scraping against the sticky floors. “Where did you move from?” You had expected him to stop talking to you yet here he is asking you questions. “New York. I lived there my whole life.” He leans his arms on the counter, looking at you from the side. “Nice, I’ve been there a few times. Do have to say the pizza wasn’t actually good.” You gasp at his outrageous statement. “What? You’ve got to be joking, it's the best. You just didn’t go to the right places, probably some fancy restaurant that sells those tiny portions.”

He’s cracking a smile from your mini rant. You’re right, it was one of those restaurants. The ones where it cost $400 to just get a table and everything is super expensive even though it's a meal for ants. He’s never seen anything wrong with those places, grew up his whole life eating at them. In this moment he wishes that wasn’t the case, that he knew how to be a normal person and not someone with money. He would have never been caught at a dingy restaurant eating food yet here he is longing to experience that. An experience he didn’t know he was missing until your reaction.

“Oh my god it was one of those places. You can’t say you’ve been to New York if you haven’t really tried their food.” He turns on the stool so his legs are facing you. “Wouldn’t that technically be their food as well? They have high class restaurants there.” He likes the way your eyes roll at him, wanting them to do it in a different way. “That’s like going to Italy and eating at fast food places we have in America. Yeah it’s their version but it’s not actually Italian food.” “I would never. Italy is too perfect to not eat their food.”

You look at him, a smile plastered on your face. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been to Italy and I’m making a fool of myself.” He can’t help but to chuckle at how cute you are when you are nervous. “Alright I won’t say anything.” He shrugs. You let out a groan, of course he has. He looks like he has money so what else did you expect. “What can I get you?” 

The bartender cuts the moment the two of you were having. “Can I get a whiskey and whatever she’s having.” You look back at Jo and she sends you a thumbs up. “I’ll just have a passion fruit mojito.” The bartender leaves you two as he goes to make the drinks. “Wouldn’t have taken you as a mojito girl?” You look at him, blush forming on your cheeks. “Yeah? What kind of girl would you take me as?” He doesn’t know if you are flirting but he sure the hell hopes so. “Maybe a margarita. I feel like you’re a tequila girl.”

You giggle at the implication. “The last time I had tequila it got me in trouble.” It did, that’s how you ended up with a baby and being kicked out. “I like trouble.” Fuck. You had told yourself when moving here to just stick to yourself and everything will be fine. THen this guy walks in and you want to throw it all out the window. It’s not fair, he’s too hot to even say no to.

“You know I got to say I never met a florist as pretty as you” He tells you, leaning in closer but keeping a good distance. “Are you flirting with me so I can change my mind about those flowers?” He laughs, turning so he is now facing you, resting his weight on the counter top. “No, just flirting. Would it help me get them though?” Now it’s your turn to laugh. “You are not getting flowers. I would still have to prepare them and I wouldn’t get it done on time.Plus who knows if the reshipment will get here on time” You take a sip of your drink. 

“What if you had help?” Your eyes look into his. They're pretty. A shade of blue that in this light somewhat seems gray. They remind you of Vi, she had pretty blue eyes too, that she got from your mom. “You would hire help for me?” He scoots closer, his hand playing with the ends of your hair. “I could help you.” His fingers brush against your arms. The words seem to have an undertone of something. Simply suggesting something else. “How?”

The smirk that forms on his face makes you want to kiss him. His hand clears your face from stray strands of hair, eyes locking to yours. “However you want me.” This isn’t really feeling like you’re talking about flowers anymore. You aren’t sure if you should shut it down or keep going. The drinks were placed in front of you, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he hands the bartender his card. To relax yourself you take a sip of your drink, which only makes it worse. Now your relaxed mind can only think about dragging him off somewhere to see how much he could really help.

You’re interrupted before you can make a mistake. “Yo country club we gotta go.” A man walks up to the two of you. He nods at the guy. “Give me a sec.” The man looks at the both of you and shakes his head. “Aight five minutes.”

“Have somewhere to be?” He downs the rest of his whiskey. “Wish I didn’t.” Your blush intensifies. Shifting in your chiat you rest a hand on his lap. “Too bad. I was just starting to like you.” He stands up, catching your hand as it falls. “Guess I’ll have to refresh your memory tomorrow.” Your hand tightens around his. “Wait tomorrow?” 

“Gotta help you with those flowers right?” He actually meant it. “Fine.” He smiles and drops your hand, backing away from you. “I’m Rafe by the way.” You tell him your name, grab your drink and get up as well. “See you tomorrow beautiful.”

You smile all the way to the table, meeting Jo whose mouth was wide open. “Dude you were just flirting with Rafe Cameron.” You shrug your shoulders at you and sipping your drink “So what?” Her face flashes with different emotions. “So what? Dude he’s literally the richest person on this island. After his dad passed away he inherited the family business, he’s dumb rich.”

Jo won’t shut up about how hot the richest guy in Kildare was flirting with you. She gave you some of the run down on him from her “sources” on the island. Those sources being friends she made when she would visit. He apparently has a mean streak, causing fights with people. How he would sleep around with every girl and on top of that did drugs. It shouldn’t have shocked you but it was surprising to hear.

You thought over everything as you laid in bed. Rafe seemed funny and sweet when he talked to you in the bar. Those two versions of him do not seem to align together. Yet again you had only met him today and you don’t have the greatest track record with guys. It doesn’t matter anyway. You weren’t looking for anything anyway, all you needed to focus on was yourself and your daughter.

Taglist: @haruvalentine4321 @namelesslosers Let me know if you want to be added

[souryogurt64]

I’m not sure if/to what extent you’ve already posted about this so sorry if this is old news but what’s your ryden take?? I would’ve died on the hill that there was genuinely something going on between them when i was in middle and high school but looking back i am so conflicted. You have the most nuanced and researched opinions out of everyone i follow on here so i’d love to hear your thoughts on the matter

RYDEN WAS NOT REAL: COUNTER MANIFESTO

Yeah, so if you go through the primers, there is not a lot of evidence that Brendon and Ryan were gay dating. I think it is mostly pieces of extraneous drama that is strung together with irrelevant info into this kind of nonsense theory.

The first part of the Ryden Manifesto is so random and disjointed I am not even going to address it. It involves a journal entry about how emotional it is to perform in front of "you" that is very clearly directed at the audience, not Brendon. It also involves Ryan saying Pete is like sexy or whatever which like. I won't even start.

When it starts to become cohesive, it starts by talking about Brendon's ex girlfriend going around telling people Brendon wanted to have "butt sex" with her so this means he is bisexual. I completely believe Brendon wanted to have anal sex with this girl, but this is not gay and she is clearly just saying this because she is mad they broke up.

Then, it mainly focuses on Brendon losing his virginity after skinny dipping, and because Ryan was there it means they must have fucked each other. This constantly comes back throughout every single Ryden post/theory. Except this means nothing because everyone agrees multiple dancers and The Hush Sound were also there in a total of TWENTY people. Brendon probably had sex with one of the dancers.

The next part is all the stage gay and Brendon holding Ryan’s hand in an interview. This means literally nothing and is not inherently gay. The stage gay is just nonsense.

The third part is this gender neutral journal entry that was posted on an account belonging to Brendon’s dog that is supposedly about Ryan and Brendon. Brendon owned this dog with another guy. A guy he lived with, shared banking information with, and posted a photo of him holding hands with, a photo of them in boxers the shower together leaked, et cetera. Like IF the poem is gay, which I don't think it is, I don’t think Ryan would be my first guess.

The next part is about the lyrics of Pretty Odd. This is mostly nonsense about connecting words like “summer” and “sea,” to the skinny dipping story and the gender neutral romantic poem, as if these are not extremely common words.

However, this continues to be so pervasive because it is objective fact that much of Pretty Odd is built around an explicitly queer prose poem about a relationship between two gay French poets. However, this does not mean that Brendon and Ryan were gay TOGETHER. I actually believe Ryan related to this story so intensely because of him and Pete. And I don’t necessarily think Pete and Ryan were gay dating either. 

Then, it gets into a bunch of videos/images from interviews that supposedly prove they are gay dating. Most of these are gone or largely inconsequential jokes (such as Brendon calling Ryan a "golden god," which is a quote from a scene in Almost Famous where a band member jumps into a swimming pool while tripping on acid), but a few of the ones that are left are extremely interesting for different reasons. 

For example, there is the Rolling Stone interview where Brendon won’t stop touching Ryan’s neck and Ryan clearly does not want Brendon to touch him. 

Right before this happens, Ryan makes a comment about how he refuses to play Guitar Hero now, and Jon states that he and Ryan “boycott” the game. Brendon snaps back, “Oh, that's weird, because we covered one on Guitar Hero, liar” then says he's kidding and starts rubbing Ryan’s neck and Ryan ignores him. This isn’t proof they are gay. However, it DOES indicate what was going on in the band behind the scenes—Ryan was repulsed by their corporate success and did not want to be doing things like partnerships with Guitar Hero, and Brendon very much wanted to be commercially successful and to go in this direction. Spencer, who is by far the most honest person in Panic, even states as this is happening that the Guitar Hero thing is a “sensitive subject” in the band and Jon adds that "There have been problems," and then Spencer starts redirecting the conversation. It's difficult to hear all of this at first because everyone is talking over each other.

Another “gay proof” video in the primer is the one where Brendon and Ryan are both wasted on MTV and Ryan is very intensely staring at Brendon while he repeats a story about Pete being “a douchebag.” Ryan is not staring at Brendon so intensely because they are gay lovers, it’s because Ryan desperately wants validation from Brendon that Pete is a douchebag and that it is OK for him to be saying this on live TV, and Brendon is pointedly ignoring what he is saying and refusing to validate this. 

At this point in the timeline, Pete was kind of siding with Brendon and Spencer over the band, while Ryan and Jon seemed to be openly alluding to conflict with Pete in interviews. I go into this extensively in my essay.

Then it goes into how Ryan was staying on an air mattress at Brendon's place, and immediately after this Ryan and Keltie broke up and the band got really strained.

Ryan cheated on Keltie with a waitress and multiple other women, and she found out on Valentine's Day. Brendon and Sarah had recently begun dating. I personally feel like now that Brendon was in a serious relationship with his future wife, he started to view Ryan having affairs behind the back of a woman he was moving in with as being not so cool anymore, and this increased tensions in the band that were primarily driven by fighting over who was the frontman/leader and their sonic direction. Ryan also moved in with Jon, which increased the divide in the band as I believe Jon was encouraging a lot of Ryan's conflict with Pete and Ryan's disdain for "emo" from the minute he joined Panic. I go into all of this in my essay.

I'm also not clear on why Ryan was staying with Spencer and Brendon but in the first place. But as a note, Ryan was extremely irresponsible and unable to manage his life due to his drug/mental issues and Keltie was managing all of it. He also was doing things like showering at Spencer's house because his utilities would get shut off since Ryan was not paying them. I kind of get the vibe he may have overstayed his welcome.

THE NEXT PART OF THIS is all about how the band said over and over the split was supposedly amicable except in these two random interviews, one of which was a video that had gone mysteriously missing. Both of these were with James, who was a reporter and one of Pete's "BFFs". He and Pete were filming a TV show and supposedly staying together on the weekends for months leading up to the Panic breakup, and were probably also writing Pete's 250 page book about his ex girlfriend during the split and Vices era.

This is probably why these interviews, and all of the split coverage done by him, is so in depth and so different than what they were telling everyone else. He probably knew what was going on from Pete already.

Then it gets into how New Perspective is about like the skinny dipping Ryden virginity loss thing. Which is just kind of ridiculous. This lyric is about someone getting cum on their face anyway, which could be way gayer than the skinny dipping story.

Aagh. Anyway that's the end of it.

THE CAPE TOWN ONE

The Cape Town thing is like. 1) Everyone has said repeatedly that Ryan hooked up with some girl there .

2) The band did decide before leaving that Cape Town was going to be the last shows they played together which is why this was all so sad and dramatic.

Ryan said this directly in 2019, but there are also a few phone conversations between James, Ryan, and Spencer from 2009 that are on MTV's website that you can deduce this from.

Then the Cape Town theory goes into this quote about how "The Calendar" is about an "intimate relationship."

This article was also written by James. When I was writing my essay, I noticed that he sometimes would just say things himself and then pretend Ryan or whoever said it if they agreed, even sarcastically. I personally feel there is a good chance that Brendon never said this of his own accord and instead it was an invention. Especially because The Calendar is a song Pete has writing credits on. Honestly, the fact that so much bandom drama was puppeteered by the guy simultaneously writing a 250 page book about Pete Wentz's ex girlfriend is like a more salacious bandom lore payoff than Ryden proof could ever be, but whatever.

Anyway, then it goes into how Ryan kept saying Panic ending was like breaking up with his girlfriend and therefore Brendon must've been his girlfriend because they were secret gay dating.

Ryan did say this, however, it is missing the context of how Ryan is likely alluding to the fact that Lie To The Truth is, imo, pretty transparently about Panic. This is not just my interpretation, but is also backed up by the line in the song about playing the fool and Ryan introducing himself as "the fool" of the band.

Anyway that's basically the end of the Cape Town theory

There's also the Seattle thing but like .

I don't really think the Seattle thing matters. Regardless of whether or not it is true that Brendon flew out for Ryan's 21st birthday, which seems to be under doubt, this does not mean that they were gay dating. It just means a celebrity took a plane to attend their bandmate's party, which means nothing lmao.

The idea that Northern Downpour is about this because Seattle is east of wherever Brendon was and therefore the song is about them being gay lovers is like so ridiculous I'm not even going to entertain it, I do think the song is probably like sentimental since Brendon cried performing it or whatever but like WHAT does that have to do with this photo

[youve-cath-to-be-kitten-me]

coda (18/18)

Masterlist!

Ava Silva x Sister Beatrice (For the AvaTrice Big Bang 2024!)

Rating: E

Word Count: 100k

Multi-Chapter (18/18) + Art Collaboration with @adlerdoodles!

Summary:

coda (n.): in music, a passage that brings a piece (or a movement) to an end

Ava Silva has everything she’s ever wanted. Her dream job designing lights for the Royal Ballet. An apartment bigger than a shoebox. A city to explore full of sexy accents and taxis that are all (yes, ALL) equipped with ramps. 

Beatrice Young has everything she’s ever wanted. A coveted spot as one of the youngest ever principal dancers at the Royal Ballet. The role of a lifetime. A routine that makes it so that she never has to worry about what happens next.

It’s funny how quickly things change. 

Teaser:

Ava Silva pushes back from the lighting board and throws her hands up, grinning. 

“I’m so fucking good,” she laughs. “So fucking good.” 

She grasps the pushrims of her chair and rolls back into place, tapping a few buttons to go a few cues back. With three taps of go, the lights on stage flash bright for a second then drop out, leaving only a cream-colored spotlight in the center of the stage. The cue is labeled The Kiss, and, frankly, it’s probably her favorite one in the entire show. (The other cue labels have no such dramatics. The one before it is called Romantic Foresty Shit 5.) She taps a few keys to reset back to cue 1. 

Make no mistake, Ava loves every single part of the work she’s done on this project. She’s spent the last few weeks squealing to herself in the booth as she designed scene after scene (after scene after scene). It’s been all ballrooms and forests and spells and one particular section of creating the effect of water around a prop boat that almost gave her an aneurysm. 

Working Swan Lake is a dream. Working Swan Lake at the Royal Ballet is an LSD trip hallucination that made her pinch herself every time she stepped into the building for a month after she started working. (She considered it a good luck charm, but she’s honestly surprised she hadn’t developed a little bruise on her forearm.) Even after all these months in London, Ava still can only half-believe she’s actually doing this. Sure, she has all the credentials or whatever. But the fact that she got an email a little over a year ago that said “pack your shit and get your ass across the pond” (paraphrased) feels more like the plot of a movie she’d watch than her actual life. 

But today is the first rehearsal she gets to run lights with the dancers. So shit’s realer now. 

Read HERE on AO3!

[feelbokkie]

Sorry, I Love You | Chapter 19

pairing: Jeongin x fem reader

genre/warnings: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, friends to lovers, unrequited love, will they, won’t they dynamic, abusive relationship, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, emotional/psychological abuse

pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)

warnings: swearing, drinking (drink responsibly), minor harassment

summary: Jeongin is in love with his best friend and he has been ever since he met her back in high school. He’s not sure how Y/n feels about him and in order to persevere their friendship, it’s a secret he keeps to himself. But when Y/n starts showing interest in one of their new neighbors, Jeongin starts to worry about the future of their relationship.

taglist: CLOSED

word count: 3,704

screenshot count: 6

previous | masterlist | next

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

"Something about this is very high school," You yawn as you take the empty seat next to Lia. "But not in a bad way."

You watch as everyone from the cast and crew form various group clusters in the room. You have just finished watching your final film project and are now enjoying the wrap party in one of the university's conference rooms. It's not the most extravagant venue, but Beomgyu's girlfriend did the best with what she had to transform the plain room. The room is divided in half by a large black curtain. The half that you're currently sitting in has small round tables covered in dark green cotton tablecloth scattered along the edge of the room, enough for everyone to have a seat. There are centerpieces with a single white rose with small fairy lights encased in a glass dome adorning every table. Instrumental music plays softly in the background, trying its best to not be drowned out by everyone's chatter.

"What do you mean?" Lia's head remains buried in the script she's currently writing in.

"Just feels like the last day of school. But instead of yearbooks, we're signing each other's scripts. Feels nostalgic," You hum before taking a sip of water.

It's a tradition that was started long before any of you were in college. During your freshmen year, you and the rest of your friend group were invited to the wrap party for the student film you worked on for credit. All of you were confused when you were instructed by a senior to bring your scripts, worried that it would be another hazing stunt like all the other ones you have experienced throughout filming. Everyone was pleasantly surprised when you saw the older students exchanging scripts and writing heartfelt messages. It became a tradition that you hoped would continue after you graduate.

“Technically,” Lia signs her name at the end of the message she’s writing and closes the script. “it is the last day of school for us. Most of us finished our classes today. We only have finals, the film festival, and graduation left. After that, we’re all out of here. This might be the last free moment we have during all the chaos.”

“You’re right, it just feels surreal. Just like that, we’re done with school. Four years just…gone, in our rearview.”

“Did you spend your time well? I know I did,” Lia gives you a knowing smirk as she leans back into her chair.

“I have some regrets,” Your eyes wander over to the small cluster of people talking on the other side of the room. Your eyes linger on a familiar head of fluffy black hair. “Some bigger than others.”

“Well if they’re anything like the regrets that I have, we can make a few more this weekend. Live while we’re still young and all that. I hear that this year’s end-of-school-year party scene on fraternity row is supposed to be the party to end all parties,”

“I think I’m good. Plus, I have to study,”

“We’re in film school. What do you mean you have to study?”

“Most of my finals are projects and presentations but I have two professors giving exams.”

“Again, we’re in film school,”

“I know! One of them is a practical exam too. And my family is back in town for graduation. Thankfully they're staying in a hotel this time but still. They can't exactly navigate on their own. And they said they’d help me pack but my mom is driving me insane.”

“Oh don’t remind me. I’m moving back home for a little bit while I find a place out here that I can afford and I can already feel the tension brewing.” Lia violently shakes her head, likely getting the mental image of moving back home out of her mind before focusing her attention back on you, “Where’s your script? I want to profess my love to you.”

“Taehyun came and grabbed it from me before the movie. I think I saw him hand it over to Yuna after that but I honestly have no idea where it could be.”

You watch as Lia scans the crowd quietly before she locks eyes on someone. “I’ll ask him about it right now. I have to return his script to him anyway. I’ll be right back,”

With that, Lia stands up and leaves you alone at the table. You contemplate getting up too and joining in on the merriment but your social battery is practically gone. Between studying, packing, and playing tour guide for your family you’re a shell of a person. If it wasn’t for the promise of free food, you would have left the second the credits started rolling.

Instead, you lean back into your chair and take a sip from the water bottle you got from Jeongin earlier. You feel out of place from everyone else who has either wine or champagne in their hands. The underaged underclassmen are marked with orange wristbands and have similar cups filled with nonalcoholic beverages, a precaution the university insisted on when they allowed there to be alcohol at the event.

You watch as the staff for the event, more underclassmen, set up the food in the center of the room. The low hums of various conversations fill your ears. Some people are talking about the movie, giving their praises. Others are talking about their summer plans, what they're doing after graduation, and what class they're taking next year. It's starting to set in that this is the last time you'll be in the same room as most of these people, at least for a while. And that the next time you might be in this sort of setting, it's not going to film as warm as it does now. None of the familiar white noise of college students with big dreams to make it big one day. If you're lucky enough to actually make it in the industry, you know you're in for endless showboating and name-dropping while you stand in the room barely getting any recognition for your work. As dreadful and daunting as it sounds, you still can't wait for it.

Thwack!

You slightly jump in your seat as a script gets slapped down in front of you. A red pen drops next to it. You blink a couple of times, not even bothering to look at who could have possibly thrown their script down so rudely in front of you. And yet, the familiar scent of beer, soju, and unmistakable woody notes of Dior Sauvage cologne.

"Anything you want to say to me? Pitiful apologies? Passionate confessions? Lustful fantasies?" Soobin whispers close to your ear. The heat from his breath almost burns you and yet, you can't seem to move away.

"What do I have to apologize for?" Your breath nearly catches in your throat. Nearly. Instead, it lodges itself in your chest. One false move and it might make its way to your heart. You almost pray it does. At least you wouldn’t have to be in this situation anymore.

Soobin lets out a puff of air. He sits next to you and throws his arm around your shoulder. His fingertips graze the exposed skin on your arm, leaving traces of burning fire on you. He leans into the chair and takes a sip of the drink in his other hand. “Embarrassing me for one. Almost delayed the whole movie because you turned everyone against me,”

“You did that yourself,” You surprise yourself with how cold your voice is. Almost detached. Maybe you should have majored in acting.

“Wow,” Soobin scoffs, throwing his head back “look at you. Where did all this confidence come from? Where’s my Y/nnie?”

Your eyes desperately scan the crowd for any one of your friends, hoping to make eye contact with one of them to help you out of this situation. Unfortunately for you, they’re either too wrapped up in conversations or facing away from you, unable to see you send out your bat signal. Under different circumstances, you'd find the sight of Jisung sleeping at his table hilarious.

“I’m not yours, Soobin,” You shrug off Soobin’s hand from your shoulder. He lets it drop and rests it on your hip instead.

“Oh?” You can tell even without turning to face him that Soobin tilted his head in a sort of mocking way like he used to do when you would say something that confused or pissed him off. It was also in those moments you knew you'd have to tread lightly. "Since when? I thought we were tied together by the red string of fate or something. Your words, not mine."

"Burned it," You take deep breaths, trying to steady your hummingbird heart.

He brushes some of your hair off of your face. "Don't be like that, Y/n."

Your name used to be your favorite word that would leave his lips. The way he would let each syllable dance off of his tongue, almost like a song lyric that would get stuck in your head for days on end. And even though he's using the same sweet tone of voice that he usually uses when he says your name, somehow it's full of venom. Like acid shooting past his lips and directly into your heart.

"Hm? Y/n? Let's get out of here for old-time's sake. I'm sure there's an empty lecture hall somewhere. Or we can go to my car."

"Still so romantic I see," You let out a panic laugh, not sure exactly how to get out of this situation. You could get up but your legs are filled with lead, incapable of leading you anywhere else. And it doesn't help that nothing is stopping him from following you. Your eyes land on the fire alarm. You imagine someone, anyone, pulling it and providing an escape for you. If there was ever a time to develop telekinetic powers, it would be right now.

"C'mon," Soobin's hand moves again, this time to your thigh. He leans into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. "Let me send you off properly."

Screech

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The sound of your chair scraping against the floor as you shove Soobin off of you is enough to deter the attention of some partygoers. "I'm serious, leave me alone."

"Jesus, when did you become such a fucking bitch?" Soobin scoffs loudly, slamming his cup on the table.

"Excuse me?" Your breath is haggard, like you just ran a mile as you stare at the man who once held all the stars in his eyes when he spoke to you.

Looking at him now, you have no idea where the shy man who bumped into you four years ago at the welcome-back party went. The same man who gave you the sweater off his back when he realized that you spilled your drink on yourself. The one who stuck around you for the rest of the night because he didn't know anyone else. And when the party started getting a little too overwhelming, took you outside so you could sit on the grass. The same grassy spot you two laid on long after the party had died down as you talked about anything and everything until the sprinklers came on in the morning. The same man who walked you back to your dorm and left before he realized he didn't even ask for your number. The man you thought, after that first night, would spend the rest of your life with. And it dawns on you that, that version of Soobin hasn't been there for a long time. You can't even find a single trace of him in his eyes.

"You can't take a damn joke. What? Jeongin didn't want you either so now you're just being a bitch to everyone?" He raises his voice. You watch as more heads turn towards the two of you. You make eye contact with Seungmin, silently apologizing for ruining his event.

You suck in your bottom lip and take a deep breath before turning back to Soobin. A new fire is burning in you. You're not exactly sure where it's coming from but you don't discourage it. "Call me a bitch one more time, Soobin,"

The corner of Soobin's mouth lifts into an annoyed smirk, revealing his teeth. "Bit--"

Splash

Both you and Soobin freeze in confusion as he's suddenly doused in what you can only assume is water. Your eyes flick behind him only to be met by Hyunjin holding an empty cup over Soobin's head. Not far behind him are Taehyun, Jeongin, Changbin, and Yeonjun. They all seem frozen by Hyunjin's sudden action, but still ready to step up if need be.

"Oops," Hyunjin says calmly as he shakes the last remaining drops of water onto Soobin's head, "Sorry, you know how clumsy I am."

Soobin flips his wet hair out of his face, a few stray droplets hit your face. He stands up quickly and turns to Hyunjin. You watch as Soobin's fists clench and unclench as he sizes Hyunjin up. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"A few things," Hyunjin places the empty cup on the table, "but right now, you're harassing one of my friends and ruining the night for another one. And messing with my friends is reason enough to piss me off."

You've only seen Hyunjin mad a few times before. Never at you and hardly at anyone else in the group. But back when you were first-years, he was notorious for his temper, especially with Jisung. You can't remember all the time Minho or Chan had to break them up over the years. It was scary then, and it's scary now how different he is from his usual goofy demeanor.

"This has nothing to do with you," Soobin scoffs in his face, amused by Hyunjin's sudden personality change.

"If Y/n is involved, it has everything to do with me."

"Why, are you next in line to fuck her?" You watch as Jeongin starts to walk towards Soobin only to be held back by Changbin.

Hyunjin places a hand on Soobin's shoulder and leans in closer. His face softens as he makes eye contact with you. He mouths a quick 'I'm sorry,' before his eyes darken and he whispers something you can't hear into Soobin's ear. Soobin quickly grabs Hyunjin's collar with both hands, slightly raising him to the tip of his toes.

"Oh? That made you real mad, huh?" Hyunjin taunts, the corners of his mouth turned up in an amused smile. "Are you going to hit me? Go on, do it.  I dare you."

"Look at this dumbass. He can't kill a spider in our bathroom but he can pick fights?" Changbin scoffs behind him.

"It's just Soobin. Getting hit by him is like getting hit by a balloon, he's fine." Taehyun waves off. Still, his stance is on guard, ready to take over if need be.

Soobin lets out an annoyed laugh as he releases Hyunjin from his grip. He runs his hands through his hair again and looks between the five men standing in front of him. "Are you all stupid? Do you realize who my parents are?"

“Listen, Shein Draco Malfoy, none of us give a single shit who your parents are. They have a lot of power at this school but beyond that, they're powerless." Taehyun steps up from behind Hyunjin and places himself between the two taller men.

Even though he's shorter than Soobin, the lack of light in his normally sparkling eyes and stone-cold face somehow makes him appear taller. You can hear the murmurs from around the room, waiting for someone to finally throw the first punch. The night is officially ruined. You know that the second someone from the Dean's office finds out about this, they're going to blame the alcohol and it might reflect badly on Seungmin, who you know had to beg to get the event approved.

It's your fault.

Ryujin hurries over to the group, slight panic in her eyes. "Look, I don't care if you guys beat Soobin within an inch of his life. Actually, I'm praying you do, but if you don't take it outside then so help me god--"

"Don't worry, Ryujin, we'll take the trash out," Yeonjun speaks up before walking over to Soobin and grabbing him by the back of his neck. Changbin and Taehyun follow closely behind, leaving you alone with Hyunjin and Jeongin.

Jeongin takes the seat beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. Your attention shifts over to the middle of the room as Seungmin taps into a microphone and begins announcing that dinner is ready.

"Holy shit, I thought that bastard was actually going to hit me," Hyunjin breathes, clutching his chest as he melts into the other chair beside you.

"Why would you egg him on like that if you were scared." Jeongin questions, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Because," Hyunjin sits up in his seat a bit, "I was the closest one and you didn't hear what he was saying...Ah, Y/n, I need you to know that I only said what I said to him to piss him off. I didn't mean it and I respect you so much."

"It's fine, I didn't hear what you said anyway. But thank you, Hyunjin." You say softly. You can feel all of the eyes in the room on you, burning holes into your skin.

"What did you even say?" Jeongin asks, leaning in over your shoulder.

"And have you mad at me too? No, thank you. I value my life." Hyunjin waves Jeongin away and turns his attention to you. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I've had enough excitement for one day though. I think I'm just going to head home." You slowly start putting your things back in your bag. It's not much, just a couple of pens and your phone.

"Now?" Hyunjin leans forward so you can see him better. "But they just started serving dinner. And it's catered by that fancy restaurant down the street."

"I've lost my appetite. And I've had a long day."

"Wait here, I'll take you home," Jeongin says, patting your head as he stands up.

"No, wait, Innie it's...fine," Your voice falters as Jeongin disappears into the crowd.

Everyone else waits in line for food, the short-lived drama already long forgotten. Some people still look back at you and share whispers with their friends, speculating what could have happened. Part of you wants to just leave and head home on your own, but another part of you knows you should wait for Jeongin to come back.

"So..." Hyunjin props his elbow up on the table and rests his chin in his hand, "Was that like...foreplay or something for the two of you? Did we interpret the Soobin and Y/n show part 57 or something?"

"God, no. That's never ever happening again. He was just throwing a tantrum. Thanks for stopping him though." You turn to Hyunjin and offer him a small, yet genuine smile.

"Does that mean the curse is broken? You're no longer into him?"

"Hyunnie, I haven't been into Soobin for a while. Especially after what happened last time." You chuckle softly.

"I was just checking. I didn't want you to start ignoring me because I ruined something for you. You know we're just looking out for you, right?"

You smile softly to yourself and meet Hyunjin's eyes. "I know. And I'm grateful to have you guys in my life."

"Then you shouldn't leave. Stay here with us."

"I have to. Legally, I have to leave." You laugh softly.

"Yeah, but after that you can come back. Seungmin told you about the company right?"

"He did...and I already turned him down. It's easier this way for everyone. You guys can live drama-free lives and Innie can--" You quickly cut yourself off.

"In can what?" Hyunjin lifts his head from his hand. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted slightly in an expression you can't exactly read.

"It's nothing," You say quickly. "Plus, I already have a job lined up. A small entertainment company needed editors for a group that's going to debut soon. It's not film work but I can work remotely so I'm saving money by not having to get a visa or rent a place out here."

"Congratulations on the job, but can we backtrack for a second?" Hyunjin's mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to find the right words. "Y/n, do you know about--"

"Ready?" Jeongin asks, standing behind Hyunjin. In his hands are two plates covered in foil and a small bag.

"Yeah!" You stand up quickly and walk over to Jeongin. You turn to Hyunjin, plastering on a forced smile. "Thanks again, Hyun. I'll see you at the film festival next week."

Hyunjin stares at you for a second before relaxing his face as the lightbulb goes off in his head. His eyes dance between you and Jeongin, trying to communicate his realization to you. You press your lips into a thin line and shake your head 'no.'

"Yeah...no problem. But maybe we should talk before then?" He talks slowly like he's navigating through a minefield. One wrong move and he might set off an explosion.

"I'm going to be busy with finals and packing this week anyway. Maybe another time? And my family is in town. You know how that goes." You plead with your eyes for Hyunjin to drop it.

Hyunjin's eyes look between you and Jeongin one last time before he lets out a deep sigh. "Fine, but we're going to talk about it at some point."

You nod quickly before muttering out a thank you and leaving with Jeongin. You know Hyunjin well enough to know that he's not going to drop it. You'll be lucky if there isn't a text from him by the time you reach Jeongin's car. All you can do is pray that the chaoticness of the film festival, finals, graduation, and moving will occupy him enough to make him forget. Or, at the very least, until you leave.

Buy me a coffee?

—

Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @marked-unknown @veedoesntknaur @nuronhe

@lixie-phobia @yongbbokkie @f9clementine @kibs-and-bits @jihanlovic

@puppysmileseungmin @jaydebow @kangaracharacha @lilcutieana @lanatheawesome

@everglowdaisies @babrieeee @sunshinessky @szkstay @aslou

@weird-bookworm @autumn-lv @ismelllikechlorine247 @stay278 @wolfennracha

@tesywesy @mmmsvnts

[cuteniaarts]

Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl

17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019

[rosicheeks]

What would be your perfect date? 😊

First date? Probably just a classic dinner at a restaurant or homemade meal. I want to get all dolled up and they actually dress up too and we spend the time getting to know each other.