#ill never forget him dancing in the kitchen as long as i live

[heartofwritiing]

What am I supposed to do, if theres no you?

paring: wilbur soot x fem!reader

authors note: I was listening to soon you’ll get better by taylor swift. I couldn’t get the imagery of this song out of my head and I needed to write some sort of vent. also inspired by a fic that @starsyoubreaklikesugardust wrote called whats it like on the other side of us that utterly destroyed me and I needed a happier version... This is super self-indulgent as hell but I hope you guys like it!

warnings: angst, mentions of an illness, hospitals, heavy topics, mentions of death, reader doesn’t have a specific illness, fluff, hurt comfort, me not knowing about medical terms or hospitals so excuse me lol, unedited!

The hospital bed feels warmer when Wilbur lies beside you, the only sound in the small room is the beeping of the machine monitoring your vitals.

On most days, everything is fine. However, when he's around, it's easy to forget the inevitable fate that awaits.

When he has to leave, he goes home to sleep in an empty bed and never does sleep. In those moments of solitude, he cries until he can't anymore. He tries to distract himself by painting the kitchen yellow, fixing up the garden, going to the studio to record, and hanging out with friends. But he feels guilty he’s not beside you.

The next time you see him he looks horrible. Like he got hit by a bus and you’re wondering if you should be the one in here or him. Wilbur Voice horse, circles under his eyes and red you know is from his tears. That’s when you pull him by the arm so he can curl up next to you so he can finally get some rest.

Stoking your fingers through his hair as he snores softly into your collarbone. You think about how Wilbur would ever function without you. How is he gonna take care of himself -when-if you are gone one day. That pit is building in your stomach along with the small lump in your throat. The burning of your eyes as you silently cry while you hold him close to your body.

Because that was what your life was full of, what ifs, whens, uncertainty, and dread. He didn’t deserve that. The arguments you used to get into when you first got sick. Begging him to leave you because you knew, in the long run, this wouldn’t work out. You could spend the rest of your life in and out of hospitals while he wasted away with you.

Wilbur swore repeatedly up and down that he would never leave you. No matter how much you tried to drive him away or how hard matters got.

Wilbur was constantly worried about your well-being, but he held onto hope that you would recover. This was especially true after the first time he brought you home.

You were happy to leave the uncomfortable hospital bed and small room reeking of antiseptic. You slow danced with him in the living room to Elton John playing from his phone speaker, listened to him write new songs, and slept in because you missed waking up in your shared bed. You felt like your old self again and he loved seeing you that way.

When things got worse again, the bright light in your eyes would soon fade, like water extinguishing a flame, as you had to leave your home and return to that sterile, white-washed room.

When you are back in that hospital bed, with the scratchy sheets and the fluorescent lights that hurt your eyes you’re back to being a shell of a human. The depression hits you harder and Wilbur does all he can to help. make you as comfterble as possible despite the weight of the situation.

You know he’s only trying to provide solstice. The small room fills with his soft voice as he reads your favorite stories. Telling you bad jokes he’s heard from Tommy that get you to at least crack a smile. He feels proud he was the one to grant you some form of happiness.

-

His hand holds your shaking, cold one as the IV pumps treatment into your veins. He leans over in his chair to be closer to you, lips against your knuckles. Your eyes meet in a longing stare that says 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' You gently squeeze his hand.

“Wil?” You asked hoarsely.

“Yes, darling?” His voice is intimate, making you feel like there are people around even though it's just the two of you. The nickname always makes your tummy flutter with delight.

You want to capture the way he looks at you in a picture. He tentatively waits for your next words, his doe eyes filled with concern. You clear your throat and exhale softly.

“I was thinking... maybe we should find a house in the country,” you say. Wilbur remains silent. "Somewhere quiet, with big fields where we can see the sky, and watch the sunset on the porch."

You've mentioned how you'd love to live out in the country. A cottage large enough for you both to have separate areas. A streaming room for him, and a bedroom and den for you to store all your books and painting supplies.

A place where you can finally be free from confinement. Despite Wilbur's jokes about you being an old soul, you were in touch with life through knitting, painting, reading, and walks. That's what he wanted to give you again.

Your voice is quieter now, creating a moment just for you. The heaviness in your voice made your eyes well up. You could feel his thumb caressing your knuckles. Like a silent ‘take your time’. Your throat closes up as you keep talking. Your breath is shaking, primarily due to the cold temperature of the room and the medicine making you feel woozy. But you and Wilbur knew it was the emotional weight you tried to carry with your words.

Somewhere we can grow old together.

The sentence sits heavily in your mind. You'd like to say it to him. You wanted to share it with him so badly, but it felt painful to have cross your mind.

Wilbur already knows by the look in your eyes. He leans over you, lovingly presses a kiss to your forehead, and wipes away a single tear before it can roll down your cheek. Slowly he moves down, then presses another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Whatever you want, my love.” he squeezes your hand back.

-

Wilbur spent weeks searching through countless home-selling websites for your dream house, but none were to his liking or within your budget. A month later, while sitting uncomfortably in a hospital chair with his long legs curled up to his chest, he scrolled through his phone and stumbled upon a house that seemed too good to be true.

He scheduled numerous appointments to see the house, ensuring everything was in order before making a final decision. Moving his belongings with the help of friends and bandmates was hectic.

He spent weeks preparing for your homecoming, buying new furniture, and arranging your books to your liking, making everything perfect only then he would finally surprise you.

He's there to take you to his car the day you leave the hospital. He takes care of you in the passenger seat, buckling you in and ensuring you're ready to leave before setting off.

As Wilbur drives past your shared apartment, soft indie tunes play through the car's speakers, and you lean back against the headrest, watching the scenery pass by. You realize you passed the turn to your house and Wilbur's hand takes yours.

Wilbur turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and says, "We're not going home just yet." A faint smile is on his lips as if he's hiding something from you. He then drives in a different direction, and you can't help but feel excited about what he has planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask. As you speak, he can hear your worry.

"If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise," he says.

He knows you're antsy in your seat but it'll be worth it. After driving through winding roads and trees, he pulls up to a house with an arched doorway and slanted roof, almost like the one you dreamed of growing up.

Wilbur turns off the ignition, rushes to your side, opens the car door, and with a grin offers his hand to help you out. Wilbur leads you to the front door, unlocks it with a small key, and picks you up to carry you over the threshold.

"Welcome home darling," he says.

You are led through the house, to the hallway to the cozy living room. taking everything in slowly.

The soft pillows on the sofa, your paintings on the walls, your books on the shelf, and Wilbur's record player and vinyl set up. His acoustic guitar set against the wall caused your eyes to well up.

"Wilbur," you began, but tears rolled down your face as the emotions overwhelmed you. Why was he going through all this trouble for a silly dream?

Wilbur frowned as he tried to place you on the recliner, but you clung to him, so he sat down with you in his lap. Speaking softly into your ear with tender words to calm you.

You drew away from him, noticing the worry in his gaze as you locked eyes with Wilbur, he searched your expression frantically, attempting to figure out the cause of your distressed state.

"Are you okay?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I know it's a lot to take all at once, but I wanted to surprise you. I'm sorry for being secretive."

You shake your head, in slight remorse for making him assume he upset you or pushed things too far.

"I'm just so happy." you beamed tearily.

Ease washed over him, and a sigh escapes his lips. Tears well in his eyes. He gently takes the back of your head and brings you to meet him for a kiss. His lips are soft and warm as they enveloped yours passionately. You reciprocated his kiss, bringing your hands to thread in his hair. Your noses brushed as you pulled away to catch your breath.

While holding each other, you remained in that position. Your breathing was slow and unsteady, and tears streamed down your face as you cried onto Wilbur's shoulder. Everything, for the first time in a long time, felt perfect.

Everything you had ever wanted was with Wilbur, and you were never going to want anything else.

Wilbur knew in his heart, soon you would get bette, because you just had to.

End.

tagging: @merakiwi @trashcanduck  @addxms @ax-y10

[wildernessfaery]

does anyone else have those people who you randomly bump into sometimes and they aren't particularly attractive but you'd fold so quickly for them?

there's this one girl who i see sometimes in the corridors and i swear to all the holy things above, i am literally feral for her, she is the most breath-taking, heart-palpitating, ethereal, extraordinary person i have ever seen in my entire life. when i see her i genuinely can't breathe and i need 3-5 business days to recover.

but on the other hand, she's literally just an ordinary person who i've spoken about 5 words to in total and looks like 75% of the people i know.

there is just something so curiously mystifying about her.

and i sort of love her.

but in a completely sane way.

(i want her to be my muse. i want to buy her flowers and cook her dinner and tuck a blanket over her when she falls asleep on the sofa. i want to carry her to bed and kiss her forehead and whisper i love you's into her shoulder as i kiss a path down to it and we both drift off to sleep. i want to wake up early the next morning and bring her homemade cinnamon buns and perfectly made tea in bed and read her poetry as her eyes open and tell her all the lovely things i dreamt about her the night before. i want to dance with her around the kitchen to the records i collected when i was fifteen and laugh until my cheeks hurt and hold her hands and get on one knee and promise to love her for this life and the next and the next, and to always find my way back to her. i want to elope on the beach or in the woods, just us two. i want to cry as i say my vows and sob as i hear hers. i want to run off into the sunset and travel the world. then i want to sit her down and hold her close and cry into the spot on her shoulder i used to kiss as i tell her i'm ill. i want to stay with her until she accepts i have to go. i want my last words to be i promise i'll find you in the next life and the next and the next. ¡ love you" and then i want to die in my sleep. i want her to mourn until she is exhausted and then i want her to stand up and fall in love again. and when she finally joins me, i want to tell her that i saw, that i love her still, that i'm sorry it took so long. i want her to say that she found someone better and i want her to break my heart into a million tiny pieces so that i spend the rest of eternity searching for them, rather than thinking of the future we never had. i want to cry so hard that the people we both left behind get annoyed at the rain that doesn't stop for days. i want to live, undead and unhappy until someone reads my diary and sympathises with my story and sets me free. then i want to fall into nothingness. i want my last thought to be of her and i want her to never think of me again. i want to stay alive only through the romanticised love story i wrote about our life together and i want to go down in history as the two women who loved each other more than anything else. i want people to cry when they hear about us and make movies and video games and i want people to get angry at the big corporations for spoiling our story. i want us to be like achilles and patroclus, except the only brave thing i ever did was leave her and the only brave thing she did was to try to love my ghost. then i want everyone to forget about us. everyone except a tired old classics professor with a white beard and kindly eyes and the last surviving copy of my diary. i want him to cook a delicious breakfast for his husband of forty years. i want him to make cinnamon buns by hand as he reads about that day when i brought her tea in bed. then i want him to put them in the oven and walk with his husband up the hill behind his house to watch the sunrise. when he comes back, hours later, his house will be alight, the cinnamon buns and my diary with it. the fire brigade will be called and the house salvaged but my diary will be burned and with it my story for he can no longer bring himself to think about me, blaming my spirit for the accident. no one will know of us again and that will be the end of our love story, mine and hers. though it ends with sadness and loss, it won't matter because the love we shared during my life was unparalleled to anything anyone has ever felt and ever will feel in the history of the universe.)

[jinstronaut]

your monthly dose of bts : park jimin

day 18 / 31 (cr. honeyboyyoongis)

[itslovethatsavesthem]

The Cat Prince / Der Katzenprinz

So... hearing Caleb’s charming little Zemnian kitty fairytale, I couldn’t help wanting to translate it back to its “original” Zemnian. 

Both the transcript and the translation (minus the stream’s interjections) are under the cut. If you have any suggestions on how to improve it (German is my native language, but there are bound to be some mistakes and rough spots in there!), feel free to poke away! 

Story and translation under the cut:

The Cat Prince 

Once upon a time in a little house on the edge of a great wide wood lived a young boy with his mother. The poor boy was sick, and spent much of his days in bed, watching the days pass by from a little window in his room. The boy's mother loved him very much, but as it was just the two of them, and the boy was ill of health and frail of form, every day she had to make the journey to town where she worked in the kitchens of the local lord. While she was gone, the boy would mind the house, read one of their precious few books, and observed the bees and the trees and the birds in their flight, as he spent the greater part of his time resting in bed. 

The boy knew that his mother loved him, and that her time away was all for his sake, and he was grateful to her and loved her in return, but it was a lonely life, spending his days rereading some of the same books or talking to the air in their little home on the wood's edge. 

One day, as the boy sat in bed, looking out at the fields that lay between his home and the woods, he noticed a cat making its way out of the forest. It was not long before the boy realized this cat clearly making its way toward his home was no ordinary cat, for upon his head he wore a little top hat. And if that were not strange enough on its own, as the cat pattered up beneath the boy's window, he stood, doffed his cap, took a bow and said, "Greetings, young master! You look as if you could use a bit of dancing!" 

The boy, stunned by these words from the dapper little cat, could scarcely find his voice. "Oh no, sir," said the boy, "I don't know how to dance, nor am I made for it." 

"Nonsense," said the cat. "Why, anyone can dance if only they look to. Come out of doors and let me show you." And as he spoke, the cat donned his hat, and began to turn in circles and to dance. The boy was curious, but said, "Good sir cat, I'm afraid I am ill. My lungs are too weak and my bones are too frail."

"Oh, maybe they are and maybe they aren't," the cat replied. "But either way, you do not want to languish one more day in bed, watching the world go by, do you? Come, take a walk with me through the fields, and I will show you how to dance." 

Overcoming his doubts, the boy managed to climb down from his window and walk a few steps closer. This was no ordinary cat and no ordinary day, and though he felt unsure, his heart did leap a little, and he began to follow the marvellous little cat through the grass, slowly at first, but with more vigour as they crossed the fields. And eventually he found himself stepping under the shade of the woods for the first time in a great many years. 

All the while the cat frolicked and capered as they wound their way deeper into the wood, and eventually the boy found himself stepping into a ring of trees. The cat, whirling about, his hat in hand, the furry little dancer twirled around the boy laughing and calling while the boy watched, his mouth agape. And then quick as a flash, the cat brought his tophat down right atop the boy's head, who was very suddenly plunged into darkness. 

But only a moment, because all about him, shining in the dark, he saw the glow of hundreds of eyes - feline eyes, glimmering in the dark. Suddenly, about him, lanterns flared to light, and the boy saw he was no longer in a wood at all. Here, he saw a grand ballroom, festively decorated and filled to the brim with cats. Big cats, small ones, old cats, young ones, cats of every breed and colour, and in the center of the great hall upon a stage stood the boy's feline guide, only now he was dressed in very fine robes and upon his head sat a thin golden crown of wrought, golden leaves. 

The boy stood in wonder and amazement as the great host of cats bowed to their prince, and then in turn bowed to him. "The world of men is heavy and hard," the princely cat proclaimed. "But here across the veil we move with lighter step. Dance with us, child, and forget your troubles for a spell." 

All at once, scores of cats closed in around the boy, purring and turning about his legs as thick as the sea, and as they moved, so too did the boy's feet. He swirled amongst them like a cork on the water, and before he knew it, the boy was dancing. Dancing, and dancing, as he never imagined he could, and his breath, to his surprise, was hearty and hale. He found he no longer felt ill in the least. 

Hours passed, and he and all the cats danced without end, and the prince of cats more than all of them. After a long while, the boy suddenly remembered his mother, and immediately feared she would worry. He stopped in the middle of the great hall and called out to the prince of cats, "Forgive me, sir cat, but I can no longer stay! My mother will worry! I have to return!" 

All the cats parted before him, and the prince approached the boy. "Are you sure, boy? You could stay and dance for us for as long as you wish, forever and ever and ever."

"I cannot," the boy replied. "My mother has only me, and I would not leave her alone. Forgive me." 

The prince of cats looked on the boy with a sympathetic eye. "Not at all, young one. Fear not a wit. You do your mother credit." 

And with that the prince of cats stepped closer. "And do not look so crestfallen. Take our cats' grace with you. You can always dance if the will is there." And from behind his back he brought out his tophat again, and pulled it over the boy's eyes, and once again, all was dark. 

Sometime later, the boy stirred, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked about and found he had been asleep in the wood, and the sun now dappled his face through the trees. Next, he noticed a threadbare, patched tophat lying in the soft grass beside him. He gingerly picked it up and stood within the same circle of trees. As he did so, he took a deep breath and smelled the earth and the forest, and as he did, he realized his breath was strong, and his legs hardy. 

"Danke," he said, as he looked down at the hat in his hands, and placing it upon his head, he smiled, kicked up his heels, and quietly started to dance his way all the way back home. 

The End

___________________________________________

Der Katzenprinz

Es war einmal in einem kleinen Haus an einem großen, weiten Wald ein Junge mit seiner Mutter. Der arme Junge war krank und verbrachte viele seiner Tage in seinem Bett, und sah die Tage an dem kleinen Fenster seines Zimmers vorbeiziehen. Die Mutter des Jungen liebte ihn sehr, aber da sie nur einander hatten und der Junge kränklich und zerbrechlich war, musste sie sich jeden Tag in die Stadt aufmachen, wo sie in den Küchen des Lehnsherren arbeitete. Während sie weg war, hütete der Junge das Haus, las eines ihrer wenigen, teuren Bücher, und er beobachtete die Bienen und die Bäume und die Vögel in ihrem Flug, als er die meiste Zeit in seinem Bett ruhte. 

Der Junge wusste, dass seine Mutter ihn liebte, und dass ihre Abwesenheit nur für ihn war, und er war ihr dankbar und liebte sie ebenfalls, aber es war ein einsames Leben, wie er seine Tage damit verbrachte, dieselben Bücher wieder und wieder zu lesen, und in dem kleinen Haus am Waldrand mit der Luft zu sprechen. 

Eines Tages, als der Junge in seinem Bett saß und auf die Felder hinausschaute, die zwischen seinem Heim und dem Wald lagen, bemerkte er eine Katze, die aus dem Wald kam. Es dauerte nicht lange, bevor der Junge bemerkte, dass die Katze, die offenkundig auf sein Heim zukam, keine gewöhnliche Katze war, denn auf ihrem Kopf trug sie einen kleinen Zylinder. Und als ob das an sich nicht schon seltsam genug gewesen wäre; als die Katze unter das Fenster des Jungen tapperte, stand sie auf, nahm den Hut ab, verbeugte sich, und sagte: "Seid gegrüßt, junger Herr! Ihr seht aus, als ob Ihr ein wenig Tanz vertragen könntet!" 

Der Junge, von den Worten der adretten kleinen Katze verblüfft, konnte kaum seine Stimme finden. "Oh nein, mein Herr", sagte der Junge, "Weder weiß ich, wie man tanzt, noch bin ich dafür gemacht." 

"Unsinn", sagte die Katze. "Jeder kann tanzen, wenn er es nur will. Kommt heraus und lasst es mich Euch zeigen." Und als er sprach, setzte die Katze ihren Hut wieder auf, und fing an sich im Kreis zu drehen und zu tanzen. Der Junge war neugierig, aber er sagte: "Guter Herr Katze, Ich fürchte, dass ich krank bin. Meine Lungen sind zu schwach, und meine Knochen sind zu gebrechlich."

"Oh, vielleicht sind sie das, und vielleicht auch nicht", antwortete die Katze. "Aber Ihr wollt doch wohl trotzdem nicht noch auch nur einen weiteren Tag im Bett dahinsiechen und die Welt vorbeiziehen lassen? Kommt, lauft mit mir durch die Felder, und ich werde Euch zeigen, wie man tanzt." 

Als er seine Zweifel überwand, schaffte es der Junge, aus seinem Fenster herausklettern und einige Schritte näher zu treten. Dies war keine gewöhnliche Katze und kein gewöhnlicher Tag, und obwohl er sich unsicher war, hüpfte sein Herz ein wenig, und er fing an, der wunderbaren kleinen Katze durch das Gras zu folgen, zuerst langsam, aber mit mehr Elan als sie die Felder durchstreiften. Und schließlich trat er in die Schatten des Waldes, das erste Mal in vielen, vielen Jahren. 

Die ganze Zeit tollte und sprang die Katze herum, als sich ihr Weg tiefer in den Wald schlängelte, und schließlich trat der Junge in einen Ring aus Bäumen. Die Katze, ein pelziger kleiner Tänzer mit dem Hut in der Hand, wirbelte um den Jungen herum, lachte und rief ihn, während der Junge mit offenem Mund zuschaute. Und dann, schnell wie ein Blitz, stülpte die Katze dem Jungen ihren Zylinder direkt über den Kopf, und er fand sich ganz plötzlich im Dunkeln. 

Aber nur für einen Moment, denn allüberall um ihn herum, im Dunkeln leuchtend, sah er das Glühen von hunderten Augen, Katzenaugen, die in der Dunkelheit schienen. Plötzlich leuchteten Laternen um ihn herum auf, und der Junge sah, dass er nicht mehr im Wald stand. Hier sah er einen großen Ballsaal, festlich geschmückt und randvoll mit Katzen. Große Katzen und kleine, alte Katzen und junge, Katzen jeder Art und Farbe, und in der Mitte des großen Saales auf eine Bühne stand die Katze, die den Jungen geführt hatte, doch nun war sie in feine Gewänder gehüllt und auf ihrem Kopf saß eine schmale goldene Krone aus goldgewirkten Blättern. 

Der Junge stand voll von Staunen und Verblüffung als das Heer von Katzen sich vor ihrem Prinzen verbeugte, und dann als nächstes auch vor ihm. "Die Menschenwelt ist drückend und mühevoll," sagte der Katzenprinz. "Aber hier jenseits des Schleiers bewegen wir uns mit leichterem Schritt. Tanz mit uns, Kind, und vergiss deine Sorgen für eine Weile." 

Ganz plötzlich umschloss eine Menge von Katzen den Jungen. Sie schnurrten und umstrichen seine Beine so dicht wie das Wasser der See, und als sie sich bewegten, taten das auch die Füße des Jungen. Er trieb zwischen ihnen wie ein Korken auf dem Wasser, und bevor er sich's versah, tanzte er. Er tanzte und tanzte, wie er es sich nie hätte vorstellen können, und zu seiner Überraschung kam sein Atem stark und gesund. Er fühlte sich nicht mehr im Geringsten krank. 

Stunden vergingen, und er und die Katzen tanzten ohne Ende, und der Katzenprinz mehr als alle anderen. Nach einer langen Zeit erinnerte sich der Junge plötzlich seiner Mutter, und sofort fürchtete er, sie würde sich sorgen. Er hielt in der Mitte des großen Saales an und rief dem Katzenprinz zu: "Vergebt mir, Herr Katze, aber ich kann nicht länger bleiben! Meine Mutter wird sich sorgen! Ich muss zurückkehren!" 

Alle Katzen hörten zu tanzen auf und machten vor ihm Platz, und der Prinz kam auf den Jungen zu. "Bist du sicher, Junge? Du könntest bleiben solange du willst, und auf immer und ewig für uns tanzen." 

"Das kann ich nicht", antwortete der Junge. "Meine Mutter hat nur mich, und ich möchte sie nicht allein lassen. Vergebt mir." 

Der Prinz sah den Jungen mitfühlend an. "Aber nicht doch, Junge. Sorge dich nicht. Du machst deiner Mutter Ehre." 

Und damit trat der Katzenprinz näher heran. "Und schau' nicht so enttäuscht. Nimm unsere Katzenanmut mit dir. Du kannst stets tanzen, wenn du den Willen hast." Und hinter seinem Rücken nahm er wiederum den Zylinder hervor und stülpte ihn dem Jungen bis über die Augen, und noch einmal wurde alles dunkel. 

Etwas später erwachte der Junge, und seine Augen öffneten sich. Er sah sich um und merkte, dass er im Wald geschlafen hatte, und Sonnenstrahlen durch die Bäume auf sein Gesicht fielen. Dann bemerkte er einen abgetragenen, geflickten Zylinder, der im weichen Gras neben ihm lag. Er hob ihn vorsichtig auf, und stand in demselben Kreis von Bäumen, und als er so dastand bemerkte er, dass sein Atem stark war, und seine Beine fest. 

"Danke", sagte er als er den Zylinder in seinen Händen ansah, und als er ihn auf seinen Kopf setzte, lächelte er, schlug die Fersen zusammen und fing still an, seinen Weg ganz bis nach Hause zu tanzen. 

Ende

[urcuteharrington]

hi, I just saw your post asking for some requests. Maybe if you can do a Steve angst but with a little bit of fluff? 💛💛

forgotten?☁️🕊

summary-steve seemed to have forgotten you when nancy came into the picture

word count-1.8k

warnings-fighting and cursing

a/n-i really hope you guys enjoyed this because it took me so long to write but i appreciate you all and i’m so glad to be back 🤍

masterlist

huge thanks to @angsty-plots for giving me ideas for new angst plots<3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

steve and i were good friends that was until he started dating nancy wheeler. it use to be steve and i doing everything together hanging out at each others houses, long car rides , going to tommy’s parties , and now he forgot all about me. i knew steve had a crush on ever since the beginning... i saw the way he looked at her when she would walk past him , i saw the sparkle in his eyes when he talked about her or whenever she was around. it use to be steve, tommy, carol, and i hanging out at lunch everyday but i was soon replaced when steve asked nancy to go to his house for a hangout with carol and tommy since his parents were out of town. that night he only invited me out of pity and i saw the subtitle flirting between the two and it made me sick. i walked barb that night to the bathroom after she sliced her thumb trying to open a beer can.” i know steve has gauze and bandages somewhere here ill look just keep your hand under the water” i tell her. that night i saw nancy and steve go into his room and i knew what was going to happen and i couldn’t bare being their for it. I said my goodbye to barb wishing her a safe ride home and went on my way. remembering that night i cried my heart out wondering why steve never expressed interest in me.

That was months ago now it’s around october and it was tommy’s halloween bash. i wasn’t going to go but i decided that it was better than sitting at home doing nothing. i knew i was going to see steve their with nancy but i still went even if it was going to hurt seeing my best friend who forgot i even existed. I go dressed up as (whatever you want) and grab my keys getting ready to head off to the party. pulling up to the house i already see drunk teens walking around with their heels in hand or wobbling around. i walk in and head over to the kitchen and try to grab a drink of spiked punch. while pouring i look over and see them... steve and nancy dancing to the beat of the music. a sudden wave of sadness hit and i decided to take a sip of the punch feeling the alcohol run down my throat.

minutes pass and i decided to stay in the kitchen since i felt like it was my best bet to not run into them while on the dance floor. watching the drunken teens flirting and stumbling their words amused on how quickly the punch could get someone drunk.then i saw her , the girl who stole my best friend from me and the boy i loved. nancy walked into the kitchen and grabbed more cups of the spiked punch , one after another i was able to see her get completely shitfaced in the ,mater of only a few minutes. steve came looking for nancy and they got into a fight and i watched intensely. watching as the punch spilled all over her while sweater my mouth opened a jar shocked at how messy everything was getting. watching her and steve storm over to the bathroom. moments later i move to the living room near the front door and suddenly get shouldered by steve who seemed furious and watching jonathan rush to the bathroom. i decided to stay a little longer since the party was still going strong.

a few days later i noticed that steve and nancy were slowly falling out since he wasn’t visiting her at school anymore and her and jonathan seemed to have gotten closer. they seemed to be done and whatever was said in that bathroom must have been bad. i decided to go to steve’s house and check up on him, even if we weren’t friends anymore i didnt want to see him go through something like a breakup alone. knocking on his front door i waited anxiously wondering if i was making the wrong choice. “ hey how can i- oh hi y/n. i didnt uh expect you to be here?” steve says opening the door confused. “ i know steve but i wanted to talk to you” i say as he walks me to his room to talk.” hey i was actually gonna go out and apologize to nancy so if you can come and help me pick something out for her” my heart sank i haven’t talked to him in months and he already brought her up. not a hey how are you or a i miss you nothing its always about her i think to myself. “ oh i actually came to talk to you about something “ “ shoot” he says.” why did you stop talking to me” silence filled the room 1...2...3 minutes passed waiting for him to say something anything” steve you left me for nancy and i dont get what i did for you to sto talking to me. i understand shes your girlfriend but shit i didnt think you’d completely forget about me” i say standing up from his bed looking at him with sadness in my eyes.” i-i thought you didn’t want to hang out with us anymore y/n i didnt notice at first i i’m so sorry” he says guilt in his voice.” i feel like i lost the only person i truly cared about and and you were my friend and now you don’t even look my way steve how could you not notice me not being their... how did you not notice me not their at your basketball games cheering you on or the long car rides we would have just blasting music or going to tommy’s parties and taking turns getting shit faced. tell me steve is it me was i just not who you wanted to be around anymore was she my replacement because i saw it since the beginning” chocking on my words i hold back my tears. i didnt want to cry but eventually it fell and my vision blurred with tears.” y/n i never ment to make you feel that way and i am so sorry i guess i just got so caught up in nancy and i didnt notice you slowly leave and i i just feel terrible “ steve looked at me finally realizing how much he affected me and how much pain he caused me. “steve if you didnt want to be friends anymore you could have just told me you really hurt me” i say to him not daring to look him in the eyes.”i-i” is all he could say” you know what steve a simple hey i dont think we should be friends anymore its not your fault i just think we should go our own ways would have been nice” i say to him walking past him” you know thanks for being my friend for so many years but i cant be friends with someone who doesn’t give two shits about me anymore” i say as i walk out the door and walk back home since it was only a few houses down.steve not moving just in shock realizing that he was the reason why he lost his best friend.

days past and steve found out that nancy liked jonathan and accepted it telling her its okay and like that they broke up. driving around i felt a wave of sadness hit when the song steve and i would listen to while blasting music. tears spill down my face as i drive home. once i make it home i calm myself down and wash up when i suddenly hear the doorbell go off. walking over i open the door seeing the infamous billy hargrove “ hey their doll face i was wondering if you’ve seen my little sister max i know that you tutor some of her friends so i was wondering if you could help me figure out where the byers house is” he says licking his lips seductively “ yeah i could take you their and help you look for your little sister just let me grab my stuff “ i say looking at him.” after getting to the byers house i stay in the car until i see steve walk out confused at why he is their. everything happened so fast punches were thrown and now i’m driving the kids to this random area in hawkins. steve wakes up and sees me driving confused at how he ended up in this situation. getting to the destination steve and i talk while the kids grab everything. in the car they explained everything that happened in thus far with el , will, the upsidown , and etc. “ we broke up” steve says looking at me “ what why are you okay” even if we weren’t close anymore i didnt want him to feel like he had no one. “ she likes jonathan and the night of the party she called our relationship bullshit and i accepted it since i-“ dustin cuts him off by yelling at him how we didnt have enough time.

getting the kids out of the tunnels one by one steve was just about to help me up when he grabbed onto me tightly in a protective matter when the demo dogs ran toward us. watching as they ran past us he told me” i lost you once and i’m not gonna lose you again”getting out of the tunnels i was able to fully process everything that happened and once el closed the gate and steve and i were finally alone he broke the silence “ i love you y/n i never ment to hurt you and i’m sorry.” speechless i sit their “ steve i know you loved nan-“ he cuts me off “ after our first fight i knew she loved jonathan and i guess i couldn’t believe it till she called our relationship bullshit and i love you so much y/n and it was stupid of me to not tell you earlier” “ i love you too steve but what you did hurt me i mean you completely forgot about me” “ i know y/n but could you give me a second chance i’ll make it up to you... could i take you on a date and patch everything up” i really didn’t want to forgive him but i couldn’t just abandon him because i needed him i loved him and he loved me “ i would love that steve “ i say looking at him with love in my eyes and a smile plastered on my face.

[blooberrywizard]

Der Katzenprinz

The full story and scene transcript for my fellow critters!

[Jester knocks on Calebs door]

Caleb: Ja?

Jester: Um, could you... could you cast tongues on me? *Flustered* I mean you know the spell where you can make me understand languages or whatever?

Caleb: Ja, I could do that

Jester: I just want to read the book, Caleb

Caleb: You want to read it yourself?

Jester: Well... I mean...

Caleb: I could read it to you if you want?

Jester: *Awkward* Okay. It could take awhile.

Caleb: Are we talking about uh, prince and cat?

Jester: Yeah the cute cat with the hat!

[Caleb brings Jester into his room and they settle on the couch]

Jester: Well this is a boring room Caleb. You really decked everyone else out

Caleb: Well it took a lot of effort for you all so no time for me

Jester: Aw

Caleb: Okay so, this is meant for children

Jester: Okay

Caleb: My mother read it to me when I was very little. Uh it's called The Cat Prince.

Jester: The Cat Prince. Okay

Caleb: Uh, okay

[Story Begins]

Once upon a time in a little house on the edge of a great wide wood lived a young boy with his mother. The poor boy was sick and spent much of his days in bed watching the days pass by from a little window in his room. The boy's mother loved him very much but as it was just the two of them and the boy was ill of health and frail of form, everyday she had to make the journey to town where she worked in the kitchens of the local lord. While she was gone the boy would mind the house, read one of their precious few books, and observe the bees and the trees [Caleb: Oh that rhymes when I translate it. Jester: *giggles*] and the birds in their flight as he spent the greater part of time resting in bed. The boy knew his mother loved him and her time away was all for his sake and he was grateful to her and loved her in return but it was a lonely life spending his days rereading some of the same books or talking to the air in their little home on the woods edge.

One day [Liam explains it's all illustrated and how Jester is next to him on the couch so he can show her the pictures] as the boy sat in bed looking out at the fields that lay between his home and the woods he noticed a cat making its way out of the forest. [Caleb: It's been a long time since I've read this] It was not long the boy realized clearly making its way towards his home was no ordinary cat for upon his head he wore a little top hat. And if that were not strange enough on it's own as the cat pattered up beneath the boy's window he stood, doffed his cap, took a bow and said,

"Greetings young master! You look as if you could use a bit of dancing!"

The boy stunned by these words from the dapper little cat could scarcely find his voice.

"Oh no, Sir," Said the boy, "I don't know how to dance. Nor am I made for it."

"Nonsense," Said the cat, "Why anyone can dance if only they look to. Come out of doors and let me show you."

And as he spoke the cat dawned his hat and began to turn in circles and dance. [Caleb: And he's dancing on the page] The boy was curious but said,

"Good Sir cat, I am afraid I am ill! My lungs are too weak and my bones are too frail!"

"Oooh maybe they are and maybe they aren't," The cat replied, "But either way you do not want to languish one more day in bed while watching the world go by, do you? Come take a walk with me through the fields and I will show you how to dance."

Overcoming his doubts the boy managed to climb down from his window and walk a few steps closer. This was no ordinary cat and no ordinary day and though he felt unsure his heart did leap a little and he began to follow the marvelous little cat through the grass. Slowly at first but with more vigor as they crossed the fields and eventually he found himself stepping under the shade of the woods for the first time in a great many years.

All the while the cat frolics and capered as they wound their way deeper into the wood and eventually the boy found himself stepping into a ring of trees. The cat whirling about his hat in hand, the furry little dancer twirled around the boy laughing and calling while the boy watched, his mouth agape. And then quick as a flash the cat brought his top hat down right atop the boy's head who was very suddenly plunged into darkness.

[Jester: Is this going to be a sad story Caleb? Caleb: *Grins and turns the page*]

But only a moment because all about him, shining in the dark, he saw the glow of hundreds of eyes. Feline eyes glimmering in the dark. Suddenly about him lanterns flared to life and the boy saw he was no longer in the wood at all. Here he saw a grand ballroom festively decorated and and filled to the brim with cats. Big cats, small ones, old cats, young ones. Cats of every breed and color and in the center of the great hall upon a stage stood the boy's feline guide. Only now he was dressed in very fine robes and upon his head sat a thin golden crown of wrought golden leaves.

[Jester: He's a prince! Caleb: Which is illustrated right there. Beautiful little cat. Well worn pages.]

The boy stood in wonder and amazement as the great host of cats bowed to their prince and then in turn bowed to him.

"The world of men is heavy and hard," The princely cat proclaimed, "But here across the veil we move with lighter step. Dance with us child and forget your troubles for a spell."

All at once scores of cats closed in around the boy purring and turning about his legs as thick as the sea. And as they moved so too did the boys feet. He swirled amongst them like a cork on the water and before he knew it the boy was dancing. Dancing and dancing as he never imagined he could. And his breath much to his surprise was hearty and hale. He found he no longer felt ill in the least. Hours passed and he and all the cats danced without end and the prince of cats more than all of them. After a long while the boy suddenly remembered his mother and immediately feared she would worry. He stopped in the middle of the great hall and called out to the prince of cats,

"Forgive me, Sir cat, but I can no longer stay! My mother will worry! I have to return!"

All the cats parted before him and the prince approached the boy.

"Are you sure, boy? You could stay and dance for us for as long as you wish. For ever and ever and ever."

"I cannot," The boy replied, "My mother has only me and I would no leave her alone. Forgive me."

The prince of cats looked on the boy with a sympathetic eye,

"Not at all, young one. Fear not a wit. You do your mother credit."

And with that the prince of cats stepped closer.

"Do not look so crestfallen. Take our cat's grace with you. You can always dance if the will is there."

And from behind his back he brought out his top hat again and pulled it over the boys eyes and once again all was dark.

[*Caleb dramatically flips the page making Jester laugh*]

Sometime later the boy stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He looked about and discovered he had been asleep in the wood and the sun now dappled his face through the trees. Next he noticed a thread bare patched top hat lying in the soft grass beside him. He gingerly picked it up and stood within the same circle of trees. As he did so he took a deep breath and smelled the earth and the forest and as he did he realized his breath was strong and his legs hearty.

"Danke," He said.

As he looked down at the hat in his hands and placing it upon his head he smiled, kicked up his heels, and quietly started to dance his way all the way back home.

The End.

[End of story]

Jester: That was a happy story Caleb!

Caleb: *Nods* That's why my mother read it to me

Jester: I really felt like the cat prince was going to trap him in there forever and then he wouldn't be able to go see his mom again

Caleb: Well a lot of Zemnian stories do end that way, it is true.

Jester: The cat prince kinda reminds me of The Traveler!

Caleb: That's true isn't it?

Jester: Ya.. wow

Caleb: A little dicey but very likeable

Jester: *Laughs* Good in the end, ya know?

Caleb: Ja... ja

Jester: That was a really good story

Caleb: I am happy that I could share it with you

Jester: Me too. Thank you

Caleb: Mmhm

Jester: Can I have it back?

Caleb: Oh ja, it is your copy. It will vanish when you leave here though but it is yours

Jester: *Stares at the book, running her thumb over it before hugging it to her chest* Thank you

Caleb: *Nods and quietly says 'Ja'*

Jester: Alright goodnight, Caleb

Caleb: Ja goodnight.... Guten nacht...

Jester: *Giggles*

[random-tinies]

Crowza - 2

Hey, I’m on AO3 too! It’ll be the first thing updated when I finish a chapter from now on, but only by like, a few hours. :P I’ll be updating this fic on the first of every month so you guys know when to expect it next. This was sitting in my Docs almost done for weeks and I finally sat down and went “I’m writing the rest of this.” and did it, so here’s chapter two!

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AO3 Link 

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Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves of the old oak. Phil lifts a wing over his face, grumbling about how the sun is always at the perfect angle to blind him every morning. Of course, he does this song and dance every spring. He’s not exactly an early bird, which is why he never blocks it. It helps him get up in the morning.

The tiny bird hybrid resigns to his fate and sits up, blinking blearily at his old home. A torn picture of his boys hangs on the far end of the hollow. He grins, happy to be greeted by their faces. The photo had been yoinked last year when it fell out of Tommy’s jacket during one of his more daring excursions. Always so chaotic, that one, Philza chuckles to himself as the thought crosses his mind. Good memories.

He walks to his stash of nuts and jerky and various other bits of food he collected and preserved the autumn before migration. He crafts a quick granola bar, thanking his lucky stars that chocolate is so easily preserved, and enjoys a sweet homemade breakfast. Pleased chirps escape him as he basks in the perfect simplicity of it all.

Today is full of plans. A lot can happen in a few months and Phil needs to make sure there’s no new predators in the area that might get the jump on him, so he’s going to patrol the area. His territory needs to be safe. He’s always very careful about going about this. It’s rare, but if humans decide to start building near him, he’d need to know.

That and he needs somewhere to get coffee. He’d think that centuries of drinking the stuff would convince him to invent a tiny coffee machine, but why create something that will break eventually when he can just sneak into a human’s house and borrow enough to last him a month of two? Of course, he won’t be borrowing that much today, but the next time all three boys leave the house, he’s certainly going to stock up. Today, he just needs a little pick-me-up.

Phil walks to the edge of his home and ducks under the branches protecting it from outsiders, then hops up them like a staircase to get the best vantage point to take off flying. A low mist hovers over the pine forest, the sun’s rays burning away at it and painting the morning in brilliant hues of gold. Phil launches himself into the air, powerful flaps disturbing the mist and sending him high above the trees. The sky above is void of clouds as he spreads his wings and coasts. The air he breathes chills his lungs but the morning sun provides a warm contrast to the feeling. Appreciation for the peace fills his chest as if it were something physical.

Spring truly is his favorite season. The crisp scent of pines and melting snow permeates the air. A few shy birds send their song up, declaring their presence to the world. This is home, this is where he loves to be, where he longs to be every winter when he has to migrate south. Occasionally, a crow joins him in the air, lazily flapping in the soft breeze.

Phil casts his eyes towards the ground, watching for any stray movements. He’d heard of mountain lions moving into the area from Kristin. They’re fleeing the forest fires west of them, she’d said. She thought maybe they were the cause of the odd feeling she has and Phil was inclined to agree, but you can never be too careful. Eventually, after finding nothing, he flies to the humble house his boys call home.

When the birdman reaches the cabin that houses his boys and nothing is amiss, he decides to land in a nearby tree and rest. The sun had climbed to about midday and he has yet to find anything that would tip him off. He fluffs his feathers as a chill sets in, the branches and needles of the tree warding off the sunlight, and takes out some squirrel jerky he packed for lunch. Perhaps it simply isn’t time to find this ominous omen Kristin gave him and he’s jumping the gun.

The door to the home opens and two people step out. It’s the blonde and brunette from the previous day. Philza watches them as they talk about something with low voices. It’s a bit odd to hear the youngest one talking so softly. Tommy’s usually boisterous and loud, throwing banter back and forth with Wilbur and giving the occasional sibling shove.

Philza hums as he takes another bite of jerky. When he goes on his coffee run inside the house, perhaps he’ll look for any clues. The thought that something could be wrong with them twists a knot of worry in his stomach. A chill goes down his spine as he realizes he hasn’t seen Techno out and about these last few days. He forgets any plans to raid the house later and throws all caution to the wind. Oh Ender, please let him be okay and not deathly ill or something.

Tommy and Wilbur climb into the red pickup next to their house and drive away. Phil immediately swoops down out of his tree and soars the short distance to the old cabin, flapping to slow himself so he can land quietly. It was his saving grace that they like to decorate the windows so he doesn’t crash into them all the time. He flap-hops around the house until he finds a window cracked open and slowly opens it further so he can crawl inside. It’s harder to find open windows further into the season since so many bugs come out.

He listens hard and looks around for any movement, staying stock still.

Nothing, the house is silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace.

He carefully steps in further, wings poised to take off at any given moment. The inside is just as cozy as the outside. The walls are decorated with photos of the trio, of a family Philza has watched grow up over the years. It’s surprisingly clean, the hand-knitted rainbow blanket folded over the back of the old leather couch. It smells like pine smoke and coffee, and bacon. Phil would find it funny if he wasn’t so worried for Techno at that moment. He hops about the living room, making his way towards the kitchen. If he can’t find anything here, he may as well get some coffee.

There’s nothing amiss on the coffee table. Phil’s claws leave tiny indentations on the softwood as he walks across it. The lamp next to him offers a little bit of light but he can see fine with the natural light coming through the windows. There’s an ad for an animal shelter in the newspaper, a comic making fun of teenagers with phones, news of the new president, and an article about a pipeline being built sometime next year. The birdman frowns at that, making a mental note. He’ll need to put an end to that before it ruins his home. He shakes his head. Right now is not the time! He needs to see if there’s anything wrong! His gaze gets caught by the fashion magazine open to a page on robes and turns a few pages, admiring the modern clothes that differ so much from his own- Oh right! Techno!

He flaps into the kitchen and trots across the counter towards the calendar hanging on the fridge. Today is circled in red with the word “ADOPTION” in messy, bold lettering. Adoption? Techno and Wilbur aren’t married, right? They can’t adopt children, right? Confusion replaces the worry in his mind but he shrugs. As far as Phil can tell by all the clues, Techno isn’t in any danger and it’s safe to get some coffee from the pot on the counter opposite of him. He hops over and crouches on the edge, dipping his rabbit-skin waterskin in and filling it full of the delicious drug.

There’s a cough from upstairs in the attic and Philza nearly jumps out of his skin. His feet slip on the edge of the pot and his wings flare out to make up for the sudden loss of balance. The mug next to him falls off the counter and shatters on the linoleum flooring with a loud crash. Oh god, oh fuck. There’s no way Techno didn’t hear that. The bird hybrid quickly reaches into the pot and retrieves his waterskin and swiftly flies back to the window, heart pounding.

He knows he’s leaving a few feathers behind, but it doesn’t matter as long as he himself doesn’t get caught. He can hear the telltale creaks of a ladder as he takes off into the open air again, inhaling deeply and landing back in his tree. What was he thinking?! Going to check on one of the beans?! He put himself in unnecessary danger just for some person he got way too attached to!

From the safety of his branch, Phil watches Techno shut the window he’d made his escape from. The piglin hybrid seems fine, no hint of any severe illnesses. The cough didn’t even sound that bad, like he was just clearing his throat. That was too close. He can’t let it happen again. Phil takes a swig of his coffee and flies off to keep scouting out his territory. I’m going to give myself a nice preen tonight, he thinks as he coasts over the trees. That nearly gave me a heart attack.

He goes back to doing his routine check-ups and patrolling around his territory, promising himself he would do better to keep himself safe. Surely he’s not losing his edge, right? Surely not…

[hisfavoritecherry]

right place, right time

summary: harry decides to take a trip to japan in an attempt to take his mind off of some things; that is, until one of the things finds its way back to him. 

warning: sadness, degredation, smut, all that good stuff

word count: 3.2k+

January 6, 2019; Tokyo, Japan. 

Harry would have never expected to find himself here. Well, he did at some points, but the ideas were never conclusive and he had never actually envisioned himself booking a flight, taking the plane, and arriving in the city that one of his most treasured books was based off of. The trip was obviously an irrational decision and after tour, there was no place he would’ve rather been (other than home, but even that didn’t feel like the right choice at the moment). He needed a new area, a new location, a new setting; to put it simply, a new place to miss you. 

You and Harry had broken things off just shortly before he went away for work, explaining that you just couldn’t handle him being away for that long and that maybe, just maybe, it was for the best. You were starting your new job as a journalist for the New York Times and it was a big step in your career for you, and you knew that there should be absolutely nothing that would prevent you from achieving it. Even him. 

He agreed, obviously, as he’s always respected you and your aspirations and he knew that he didn’t want to be the one thing that was holding you back. He’s encouraged you to do everything you can to do what you want to do as you’ve encouraged him to do the same, and even if it broke his heart, you deserved it more than anyone he’s ever known in his twenty-four years of life. You stayed friends and would call every now and then, updating him on gossip in the office or just things happening in your everyday life. You’d ask him about events happening around him as well and he would say the same thing every time. That it’s the same-old, that he’s okay, that he misses you. A smile would creep upon your lips as you knew you felt the same way, but nothing would change, no matter how much you both wanted it to. 

The only remaining problem was that you stayed on his mind the whole time after you had split, and regardless of how many times he tried to stray away from you, the thought of you always spilled back into his mind like ink on paper; you were his familiarity and he was yours.

He would see someone in the crowd who looked like you; there you were. He went on runs when he managed to get days away from the stage and put his playlist on shuffle, hearing the song you both claimed and danced together to in his kitchen that one time; there you were. He visited a random corner cafe and got your order just to see what all the fuss was about but ended up frowning and hating it deeply because it was too sweet; there you were. Every goddamn chance he got, there you were. 

Harry had expected things to change as he disembarked the outing, suggesting that perhaps if he had different people surrounding him, his conceptions would change as well. 

They didn’t. It worsened, in fact, and he ended up seeing you more wherever he went. Every face, every place, every name, it brought him back to you and he eventually accepted that you would never go away, or at least would go away in slivers at a time. So to take his mind off of the idea of you for the meanwhile, he used most of his days and nights to go out with friends and find new individuals to satisfy his cravings for the ghost of you. Not sex, or anything else, he simply just found new things to fill the void and help him ignore the pain he was so evidently feeling.

It’s currently February 1. The day he was dreading, his now second birthday without you next to him. Harry decided to spend today at Sarutahiko Coffee, a cozy cafe just a few blocks down from where he was staying. Partying and going out to karaoke with his friends was fun, hell, sometimes he thought about dropping everything and moving here just to be able to live this lifestyle, but it did get tiring at some points, and there is nothing else he’d rather be doing than perching up against a corner in the shop and reading his book right now.

The work of choice held tightly in his grip is The People Look Like Flowers at Last by Charles Bukowski, reading the poems flowing from the creme-colored pages and writing thoughts in a journal kept close to him about things that stood out the most. 

 “A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you never entirely recover.”

What a load of donkey shit, Harry thought to himself. Love was nothing but heavy unfair baggage to him now, and he no longer believed in it. Not if he didn’t get to have you.

He chuckles to himself softly at the notion, jotting it down onto the paper and crossing it out immediately after.

It’s pathetic to Harry. How he was acting this way towards your relationship with him, how looked at the situation so negatively and sourly. He loved you so much that everytime he saw you, his breath hitched and he felt as if his heart would pump out of his chest. That every step you took closer to him, it would land him closer to a casket or his deathbed.

The bell tolls and he doesn’t bother tilting his head to see if it’s a customer coming in or leaving, as it’s been occurring all day and he just doesn’t pay mind to the action anymore. He continues to let his eyes touch every word on the page but abruptly stops when he recognizes a tone of voice. 

“Hi, how are you?”

It’s not her. Can’t be. Wouldn’t be. She’s not even in Tokyo.

Nonetheless, he looks up in the most subtle form of curiosity beaming from his aura. 

There you were. Your head cocking to the side, smiling at the cashier taking your order as you speak broken Japanese in an hasty endeavor to communicate with them. You’re dressed in a flowy white dress covered in tiny pink flowers attached to green leaves, hugging your waist in all the right places and a nude bag clutched around your shoulder. Around your back and arms is the baby pink cardigan Harry gave to you for your twenty-first birthday, the one he was so strangely excited to give to you because secretly, he knew he would be able to take the material off of you once the party was over and everyone had gone home.

He’s stunned and stopped in place now, his eyes wide open as he had no clue what to do at this point.

As if the stars had aligned in place at the perfect time, you’re standing in front of him and it feels like he can’t move.

He had only ever spoken to you through calls, not getting the chance to Facetime because he never had the time to while he was away, and you look different. A good different. Your hair is a little longer than he last saw you and tinted lighter, and it’s apparent that your skin is glowing now. Not a pregnancy glow, he hopes.

He snaps out of his trance as you grab your latte off of the counter, turning to find a seat around the cafe and freezing as you both make eye contact. Your heart stops at the sight of him. Him. The person you missed so goddamn dearly and the person you’ve been yearning for since the day you broke up. The person who’s kissed you when you were nervous, who held you when you were scared. The person you’re still in love with to this day, no matter the lengthy amount of time you’ve spent apart. 

A few seconds pass and you start to make your way to the area he’s sitting alone at. You’re praying in this time that he isn’t here with someone else, but in return, he smiles at you. The kind of smile you love, when his dimple pops out and his pearly brights show through. He’s the sun.

“Harry,” you breathe softly, lips curling into a grin. The sound of his name erupting from your mouth makes your lungs skip a beat as you haven’t said it at all in what? A year now?

“Y/N,” he says in return.

“Mind if I sit?” 

He purses his lips and hastily moves all of his belongings over, making space for your arrival. 

“Be my guest.” 

Your perfume dials into his brain as you sit and he smiles at the easily recognized scent. The silence between the two of you now is deafening and to be frank, annoying. You wish you could hold him in your arms again and tell him you missed him and you love him and that this whole time, all you’ve ever wanted to do was call him and find your way back to him, but you don’t. You can’t. Not here, at least. 

“So-”

“You-” You both start speaking at once.

“Whoops, my bad. You go first,” you say softly, pressing your lips into a line which makes him laugh gently.

“I was going to say, y’ look good, Y/N.” 

Your heart stops once more and everything comes rushing back to you.

The first time he kissed you, the first time he held your hand, the first time you made love, the first time you fucked, the last time you kissed, the last time he held your hand, the last time you made love, the last time you fucked.

“Thank you,” you look down out of pure nervousness as you don’t want to mess it up. “You do too, I’ve missed you.”

A moment of stillness is shared between you two and you instantly regret saying it, God knows if he feels the same way and if he could be missing someone else who isn’t you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, forget I said that, please.”

“No, s’ all good, was just registering into my brain that you actually said that,” he pauses, running his hands through the chestnut locks held atop his head. You never noticed but his hair has grown a large amount, almost touching his neck now. He’s wearing a light brown cardigan around a white tee shirt, sunglasses hanging off of the edge of the material. His eyes are duller and he looks more tired, worrying you, but you don’t want to fuss just yet about why that is.

“I missed you too.”

You both smile and nod together, almost as if in sync and you observe that although it’s awkward now, it’s a comforting kind of awkward and you know that he’s finally here in front of you, with a blatantly inviting heart and the softest smile to grant you access to it. 

“So what are you doing in Tokyo?” he asks, taking a sip from the mug filling to the brim with black coffee that seems like he didn’t bother touching since the moment he arrived. 

“I could ask you the same thing. But I’m here just to visit, work’s been on my ass and I just needed a way to escape. I worked my ass off everyday since my first day on the job and I never slacked. Not once. But it gets tiring, y’ know, so I was like, Japan seems like a cool option. So I used up my savings and booked a flight. Been here for a few days. Weird that we ended up at the same time, though, I guess,” you giggle delicately and it sounds like music to Harry’s ears, a melody he hasn’t heard in what feels like forever. He stays silent in response as he puzzles together in his mind how this could have happened. How you managed to come to the same cafe as him, at the same time, in the same city. Right place, right time, he suggests to himself.

“And you?”

You like that about Harry. You like that you’re able to spill your heart out to him and he would accept all of it with open arms, listening as closely as he possibly can and registering every spoken word into his brain. 

“After tour ended, I was weighing all the possible options on where I could spend the time writing the next record and getting my mind off of some other shit, an’ I guess we had the same idea of randomly choosing Japan.”

“Yeah? Where are you staying?” you ask quietly, tiny hands curling around the cup of your liquid of choice. You realize that maybe it was a bit of a reach to ask, but you’re curious and you’re almost positive he’s the same. 

“I can show you if y’ want,” Harry taps his fingers against the wooden table dividing the two of you and you nod in response, and him mentally breathing out in relief that it didn’t backfire onto him. You had no plans for the rest of today, anyways, other than exploring the city a bit more, and it wouldn’t hurt to check the place out for a few minutes or so. You both grab your belongings, heading towards the exit and smiling at the workers who do the same in return. 

You walk a mere five minutes in silence before arriving at a tall brick-built building. You assume it’s an apartment complex and he unlocks the main entrance, heading towards a set of doors that end up being an elevator. You both pile into the lifting device and he clicks the number 10.

“S’ nice,” you say softly, tugging at the hem of your dress-skirt. He nods in response and folds his arms together. 

Harry’s heart is racing faster than he can think and it feels like time is going slower than usual. It’s never normal for him to be anxious or nervous like this around you, you’re his sense of calmness and the only person he feels like he can totally know himself with.

But he can’t wait any longer. He doesn’t want to lose you again, not like this. 

Harry steps in front of you, eyes peering down and his hands tuck around the back of your neck. Your hands absentmindedly wrap around his waist, and you know what’s going to happen next but honestly, you’re so grateful for it.

“If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it?”

He smiles at you once more before cocking his head to the side and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’ll have to see for yourself.” You don’t let another moment pass before eagerly smashing your lips against his, him pressing you up against the elevator wall and wrapping your leg around his middle. He tastes like mint and forgotten love, the sweet tang of the person you’ve missed so fucking much. You can feel him hardening against your center as your lips move together in sync, releasing from each other’s embrace as Harry moves down to your neck and leaves soft pecks around the area. He moves up to the spot right behind your ear that he knows makes you go crazy, which makes your cunt ache for him and only him.

The elevator dings above your frames and he pulls off of you immediately, the both of you moving to the side of one another as an elderly lady enters. You look up to see Harry smirking to himself with his lips pressed into a line and you nudge his side while rolling your eyes, him chuckling in return.

It doesn’t take long before you arrive at his floor, his fingers intertwining with yours as he leads you to the exit and towards his door. He fumbles with his keys for a moment as you lean up to suck the nape of his neck fervidly, leaving marks as you go and him groaning tacitly.

“And don’t think I forgot that it’s your birthday,” you whisper against his ear, giggling and kissing against it as he’s finally able to get it unlocked. He pushes the door open to reveal a large penthouse that you don’t get a second to look around before you’ve dropped down to your knees, trembling as you unbuckle the belt around his waist. You don’t want to admit it but this is the first time you’ve both ever gotten laid since you ended things and you never would have guessed that this would’ve been with each other. Harry throws the stack of books previously held in his clutch onto the couch nearby and helps you tug down his jeans, his black briefs now in vision and erection planted directly in front of you. You stroke him through the material and leave kisses across it, making your way to the tip of it and pulling the briefs down with your teeth. He hisses at the teasing action with glistening eyes and you can’t help but smirk to yourself at the sight of it, grabbing him between your fingers and using them to move down his shaft. You’re looking up at him now and his head is thrown back, moaning at the feeling of pent-up deprivation finally being taken care of. 

You use your tongue to swirl around the tip, catching any of the precum dribbling from his cock in the swells of your mouth and he grabs a handful of your hair to guide you through it.

“Fuck, jus’ like that,” he pauses, using his strength to bob your head up and down but making sure it’s only the amount of him you’re able to take. “I’ve missed you, baby,”

Tears begin to gather at the crease of your eyelids before he releases his grip each time, and it doesn’t take long before he’s picking you up and carrying you to his bedroom. You whine in irritation and make rebuttals for him to put you down and he pats your ass, placing you down softly onto the mattress and continuing to work his way around your heart-shaped lips. He pulls up the material around your body and throws it to the other side of the room to reveal that surprisingly, you aren’t wearing any bra or panties, and his breath hitches before taking a moment to himself and placing his hands onto you once more. It’s obvious that he’s trying to be as delicate as he possibly can with you but to be honest, that is the last thing you want right now.  

“Harry,” you breathe out, cursing to yourself as he kisses tenderly down your torso. He tilts his head in reaction; you’ve always been very vocal with each other about affection and sex and how you wanna go about it so it wouldn’t hurt to be that way now too.

“Please,” you breathe out. “Be rough with me, I need you so much,” you beg, him humming as a silent notion of ‘are you sure?’ and you nod in return. Harry’s finger dips through your soaked folds, digit swirling over your sensitive nub and using his other hand to hold your hips down as they buck up against him. Propping yourself up onto your elbows to watch him work, you whine his name over and over as his mouth is now attached to your heat, him moaning from enjoyment in response as well. He pulls away and you can’t help but want to scream at him for it, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. As much as he wants you, he wants to know that you’re just as needy and eager for his entrance. 

“What do y’ want, princess? Hm?” He taunts, pushing his thumb against your clit harder. 

“I want-” He presses harder, which makes you cry out louder.

“I want you to fuck me, Harry,” you mumble quietly and he halts his movements completely, making you squirm and wrap your fingers around his arm in a poor attempt to reattach his touch back to you. 

“What was that?” You know he heard you the first time but needs to hear you beg for him once more.

“I want you to fuck me Harry, make me c-cum, please,” you tremble and it doesn’t take another second for him to pull his weight up before wrapping his hand around his cock firmly and hooking his other onto your thigh. He doesn’t give you time to re-adjust before sinking himself into you and letting out a groan, the moan coming from your lips sounding like a symphony to his perception.

“Shit, you’re so wet, all f’ me,” he wants to let you adapt to his length again but instead, decides to start moving himself in and out of you hastily, head dropping to your neck and you use his nape to leave your traces up against. He never expected to end up here, fucking you like this in his bedroom, but that was the last thing on his mind, the first being to make you cum. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Harry,” you plea. “You feel so fucking good,” you cry out for him, sobs being jagged and covered with lust as you move your fingers into his sweat-immersed hair. His face is tinted a bright shade of pink and moisture is leaking down the sides of his face.

“Harder, please, daddy,” the accentuating whines coming from your lips almost mask the nickname you’ve bestowed upon him for the first time since you last made love, but it makes his stomach riddle with butterflies and he follows your request. Harry pushes himself into you harder each time, his fingers trailing down to your center and pinching the skin surrounding your nub. The only noises throughout his whole apartment now is a combination of your moans and the bed softly creaking against the hardwood floor. He knows that you’re close and he is as well, but he wants to make it last longer for your first time together again.

“Y/N,” he groans out, brown curls falling in front of his face. “‘m not going to last long, baby, gonna cum for me? Gonna let me fill you up like the dirty slut you are? Is that what you want?” 

You can only nod in response due to the dryness in your throat from crying out seemingly louder than you ever have and you feel yourself release and clench onto his dick, pinching your eyes shut and seeing fireworks glow against them. A moment passes and Harry loosens the grip from your thigh, stuttering and becoming more sloppy with his thrusts, but soon emptying himself into you and pounding into you one last time, sending chills throughout both of your bodies.

He waits for a while in order to recollect himself and give you a chance to as well, collapsing at your side as you feel his contents spill out of you. You know he’s about to grab something to clean you up with when he begins to move to the edge of the bed but you tug him back, nodding and pouting.

“Don’t leave, not yet,” you say, still out of breath and Harry chuckles quietly before pulling himself back and wrapping his arms around your waist, pecking up against the sweet spot near your neck once more and letting out a sigh. 

“I’m not leaving you ever again, not after what just happened.” You lean over and swat his arm, giggling and pressing your lips against his again. You’re both finally in the place that you’ve been dying to be in for the past year and you realize that maybe the time you spent apart was all worth it if it meant you got to be back here with him, in his arms, in his presence, in his bedroom, in Japan.  

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Teenage Dirtbag (K.S.)

While I’m not exactly who you hoped would be writing these requests for you, I hope they are what you were looking for @nonchalantflower and anon 💛 I had so much fun writing for Kyle and would DEFINITELY be interested in writing more parts for this if you guys are interested! Enjoy, my thirsty friends 😘

(arguments, slight physical roughness, smut)

“Don’t forget your lime, sweets!”

You smiled and raised your cup in silent thanks to the girl pouring drinks behind the kitchen counter. It was far too loud to do much else. Music blared as people drunkenly sang karaoke in the living room and the rest were either singing along or trying to yell over the sound trying to hold conversation. You had not been much of a party-goer before Kyle, and you weren’t much of one after either. You sighed, looking into the cup for a moment before shooting back the contents. You briefly wondered why you were even there until a pair of arms wrapped around your middle.

“Y/N!!! Come dance with me pleeeeaaasseeeeee!” That’s right. You’d promised your best friend, Missy, that you’d escort her to this specific party to make sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble. You knew it was just a lame excuse to get you out of the house, but you figured it couldn’t hurt anything. You allowed her to pull you into the backyard where the band was going strong and hot bodies danced freely in the night air. There was something about it that made you relax a bit. Your body slowly succumbed to the alcohol and began to rock to the music along with everyone else in the crowd. “That’s my girl! Get it babe!” Missy cheered, dancing and laughing easily with you. You let yourself laugh too, feeling yourself untense for what felt like the first time in months. It felt good. The longer you danced, the more you lost track of your surroundings. You closed your eyes and slipped under the music and intoxication.

You were abruptly pulled from this euphoria, however, as the music came to a close and Missy began tugging you back toward the house. “There’s a group starting Seven Minutes in Heaven!” she squealed. You briefly realized this was exactly the trouble you were supposed to be keeping her out of, but she was so excited that you couldn’t find it in your mildly inebriated self to tell her no. You and her brushed past multiple couples making out and someone definitely revisiting their dinner in the bathroom to find a large circle of people gathered in the library upstairs. A tall, blonde jock walked around collecting bits and bobs from each individual in his sweaty hat. You watched Missy pull her earring from her ear excitedly, ready to add it to his collection.

“God, this is so bad,” you giggled, shaking your head. “Just keep it in your pants, that’s all I ask.” She elbowed you sharply in the ribs before placing the earring in.

“You gonna play, toots?” the blonde asked, eyeing you up and down.

You shivered in mild disgust, quickly shaking your head. You were about to make a snide remark when Missy pulled the clip holding your hair up from your head. “Ow! What the hell?”

“You’re playing, and that’s final,” she said, adding your clip to the hat. You huffed, submitting easily. You definitely couldn’t deny that you needed some action.

“Alright, gents! Who’s up first?” the blonde called over the group.

“This guy over here! Total closet monster!” A group of guys started cheering and shouting from the corner of the room. You couldn’t quite see who was the object of their jeering quite yet. “Everyone knows bassists get HELLA pussy! Let’s goooo!!”

That was the first in a series of events that quickly filled your stomach with dread. No. Fucking. Chance. Suddenly, the unfortunate boy was pushed out from the group of shouting teens, confirming your worst fears. You swallowed, looking down and praying he didn’t see you.

“Shit,” Missy whispered in shock, turning to look at you. You grimaced, suddenly feeling a bit ill.

Chants of “Kyle! Kyle! Kyle!” rose from the whole room as the lanky boy you knew every inch of rolled his eyes and reached into the hat. You shivered, praying silently that fate could not possibly be cruel enough to lock you in a closet with your

ex-boyfriend for seven minutes of pure hell.

Fate laughed darkly in your face.

The minute he pulled the clip out, his intoxicated smile fell from his face slightly. He recognized it. Even now.

“That’s the little miss right over there!” The jock pointed to you and his exclamation was followed by a series of cheers and “oh shit”s from people who recognized the situation. You suddenly found yourself pushed to the middle of the room next to him, Missy shouting your name behind you as strangers' hands forced you forward.

“That’s his ex!” someone shouted, making you visibly cringe. The group collectively fell to hushed whispers and quiet laughter.

“Shit.” You finally forced yourself to raise your head, looking over at the boy who’d uttered the syllable and that you were once convinced you were in love with. He was still looking at the clip in his hands, but quickly felt your eyes on him and looked up. He was smirking softly.

Rage ran through you from head to toe in half a second. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Well, lovers, the closet awaits! No one denies the destiny of the hat!” The more times this blonde opened his mouth, the more you wanted to punch him in the throat.

“The destiny of the hat,” Kyle repeated, clearly amused by the unevolved thought processes of the people around him. Pretentious asshole. He straightened his shoulders and strode over to the closet, seemingly unaffected. You watched in shock and anger, unable to understand how he could possibly think you were going to go through with this. He simply stood inside the doors, looking at you expectantly along with everyone else in the room.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you muttered, stomping after him. The crowd erupted into cheers and hollers of crude things you’d hate to imagine your mother hearing. Wearing that damned smirk, he pulled the closet doors closed behind you and sealed you both in darkness.

“Seven minutes starting now. Remember kids: make love not war!”

You scoffed, your arms over your chest. “Okay. What the actual fuck are you

trying to prove?”

Kyle shook his head, looking at you in earnest. “What is it, Y/N? Don’t believe in the destiny of the hat?”

“You are a child,” you spat, fury bubbling in your veins. The blissful feeling of the alcohol in your system was long gone, replaced with anxiety and frustration. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Now he scoffed. “You never knew who I was, Y/N. You just saw what you wanted to see and were disappointed. Join my little anti-fan club!” He threw his hands in the air, laughing bitterly.

“You’re so full of shit! You’re so busy hating the world and everything in it that you refuse to let people into your life.”

“Yeah, life really dealt me such a stellar hand, don’t you think?”

You fell quiet, so frustrated you couldn’t find words. Tears burned in your eyes and your fists clenched at your sides. You stepped forward, pressing a finger into his chest. “You had me, you asshole. But you pushed me out when you felt yourself start to need someone.”

He exhaled sharply, making you realize how close you had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right,” he replied, his voice suddenly lower and quieter, but still sharper than a double-edged blade. “It’s my fault I needed space to grieve my dying father- my apologies.” His breath hit your face as he over-punctuated every consonant, his hand finding itself holding your chin.

Your eyes went wide as he laid his hands on you, your breath caught in your throat. He noticed instantly, his predatory eyes glancing down at your mouth for a flicker of a moment. You both knew it was all over.

He pushed you roughly back to the other side of the tight closet, his mouth on yours with ravenous intensity. You gasped, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pushing him away. Your wild eyes met his, searching for something to make this make sense. Unable to find it, you tugged him back down to your lips. He growled lowly, his hands sliding under your shirt and firmly holding onto your sides while your hands tangled into his mop of dark curls; old habits die hard. His insatiable lips traveled down your neck to the spot he knew made your knees weak.

“Fuck, Kyle,’ you squeaked, hating how easily you’d given into him. But he had kissed you first. Perhaps the shoe was finally on the other foot. You were pulled from the moment by the sounds of cheering coming from outside the thin closet doors. You’d nearly forgotten you were being listened to by a room full of horny teenagers.

“Plebeians,” Kyle muttered hotly against your skin, unhindered by their antics. His hands slipped in opposite directions, one approaching the waistband of your jeans and the other reaching for the underside of your breast. Your hand quickly grasped his wrist, halting his movements.

His eyes flashed, meeting yours. Despite the darkness, you could see the lust in them. “What is it, princess? Forget what it’s like to be touched by a creature with an IQ higher than 6?”

You locked your jaw, glaring at him while you fought to catch your breath.

“There’s my stubborn girl,” he breathed hotly against your ear as you slowly released your grip on his wrist.

“I’m not your girl,’ you gasped, feeling his cold hand slip into your panties.

“Maybe not. But no one gets you wet like this.” He groaned softly, feeling your slick coat his fingers as he drug his fingertips through your folds. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

“Mm, and I’m sure you aren’t turned on at all, right?” you jabbed breathlessly, you hand slipping up his shirt to rest against his hot skin.

He visibly shuddered, leaning forward to catch your earlobe between his teeth. “Tease.” His long fingers made slow, tortuous circles on your clit, making you let out a soft cry into the dark closet. “Why don't you find out for yourself?”

His filth made you tremble, fisting his hair and tugging just hard enough to get him to let out a grunt of pleasure. His fingers quickened their pace, the forearm of his opposite side pressed against the wall next to your head as he pressed your bodies together. You reached down to feel his lust pressing adamantly against his fly and could confirm that he wasn’t lying. “Goddamnit.. I’m close,” you confessed, feeling your body betray you. You so desperately didn’t want to give him what he wanted, but his fingers were too persistent and he knew your tells far too well.

A harsh knock on the door struck like a cold splash of water. Kyle quickly pulled his hand from your pants,his damp fingers splayed against your bare stomach. “Alright, kids. Couples counseling is up in 30 seconds. Put on your clothes and get decent… or don’t.” Fucking idiot.

Kyle stepped back, seeming to suddenly come back to himself. Still breathless, you straightened and grabbed hold of his angled jaw. “You are going to finish what you started, or, so help me-“

He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the still-very-present bulge in his jeans. The muscles of his jaw contracted beneath your fingers. “Trust me, pretty girl. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

The door flew open and you quickly pulled your hand from his. Applause greeted you along with momentary blindness from the brightness of the room. Kyle’s hand was around your wrist and pulling you out of the room before you could even fully regain your bearings.

(To be continued?)

[ahgaseda]

aura | one

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The sun was too bright. Rays pierced the gossamer curtains and shone into your eyes. You vaguely recollected your mother bursting in and throwing the windows open, ordering you to get up. Now, the sun had risen and you were cutting it close.

With a grumble, you threw the blanket over your head and rolled over, eager to sleep the day away. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Being in a constant state of denial and dread was exhausting.

Slowly, you drifted back into a dream. Well, maybe less a dream and more a memory. Perhaps it was all a fantasy at this point, the way you recounted it, lingering on only the good parts.

You remembered every insignificant detail of that night - the night you reached your greatest high and deepest low in the span of an hour. The moon had been full and the crickets were singing. The air had cooled from its typical summer heat, but the dirt was warm beneath your bare toes.

Sneaking off in the middle of the night with a boy. You would have never in your wildest dreams done something so reckless.

But he said he wanted to watch the stars and kiss you beneath the moonlight. Endlessly. You escaped with him down the beaten path, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Then, he backed you against a tree and kissed you like he had completely run out of patience.

You remembered smiling against his mouth, giggling when his tongue teased your bottom lip. Your hands were on his shoulders while he cradled your face. At some point, you broke away and he stared at the sparkles in your eyes.

“I love you,” was all he said. The first of many lies.

You followed him. It didn’t matter where he went, you were ready to follow him off the edge of the earth if he asked. Jaebeom held you so tenderly, yet tight and secure. You had no hesitations and certainly no regrets when he laid you on your back, kissing you restlessly.

But it was a lie.

You moaned his name when Jaebeom pressed his lips to your neck. You could still remember how your heart thundered uncontrollably whilst he tongued his way between your breasts. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted Jaebeom. The boy who made you fall in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

Even the way you whimpered when he took you was a persistent echo in your mind. The noises he had drawn from you were carnal, to say the least. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his hair damp when you tangled your hand through his strands, and his naked body heavy on top of yours. He kissed you with such gentle affection when he buried himself inside you.

But it was still a lie.

You truly believed he was making love to you, every last inch of you. He was all you knew in that moment. With Jaebeom, you lived like there was no tomorrow. And you would never forget the way his face tensed with ecstasy, how he groaned your name when he filled you. All you cared about in that moment was his pleasure - his love. It was all you ever wanted.

But it was his biggest lie.

You opened your eyes, tears escaping down your cheeks, and forced away the bitter memories. Every beautiful moment spent with Jaebeom kept coming back and you wanted to set them all aflame until you forgot every single fucking detail.

You remembered how he smelled, how he felt. How his arms flexed around you when he hugged you close. How he smiled when he made you laugh. How he kissed your hand at the most random of times. How he whispered his love into the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. What was once sugar on your tongue turned to ash and dust in your mouth. You didn’t think you were capable of this much pain.

Jaebeom had taught you a very hard lesson. And yet, though you would never admit it to anyone, you still loved him.

Suddenly, the door to your bedroom burst open and a familiar voice announced, “Rise and shine, dear!”

It belonged to your best friend, your childhood rival, and most inconveniently, your next door neighbor.

“Jackson,” you groaned, muffled against your pillow. “Not now. Go away.”

“Baby, you know we on a schedule,” he chirped with the speed of a man who had already ingested too much coffee, grabbing your comforter and ripping it off the bed without mercy.

You cried out at the unexpected cold on your bare legs, curling into the fetal position to try and trap some warmth to your body. You then bounced lightly on the mattress as Jackson leapt into the air and landed on your bed in the most spectacular fashion.

His face moved predictably before yours, inches away, and he was sporting a grin that could be filed under Jackson’s trademarked twisted delight. “It’s camp day,” he said excitedly.

You blinked. “I know.”

Jackson sat up and reached over to smack your butt. “Get up,” he yelled, sidling off your bed. “Breakfast will get cold.”

You huffed profanities under your breath and clambered after him.

Downstairs, your mother and stepfather sat at the kitchen table. Maids attended to them, waiting on their every move. Such was commonplace in the penthouses of preternaturally wealthy people.

“Ah, I knew you could handle it, Jackson,” your mother crooned.

Jackson plopped down at one end of the table, opposite your stepfather with his nose buried in a newspaper. You finished tying the knot of your fluffy bathrobe and took the empty seat across from your mother.

“Everything is packed and loaded in the car,” she informed, her tone a little harsher where you were concerned.

“I promise, Mom,” you began, eyes cast downward. “I won’t go back there again.”

It was true. You were so caught up in negative ways of coping that by the time you realized you were going to get yourself sent back to the one place you would be forced to see Jaebeom again, it was too late.

“Well, if only you had found that resolve last year,” she chided, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.

You clocked a glance at your friend. Jackson happily stuffed his face, eating everything in sight. Despite living in the penthouse next to yours, with his equally wealthy parents, Jackson opted to eat at your table more often than not.

Preferably so he wouldn’t have to listen to his parents fighting.

“Can we expect the same promise from you, Jackson?” your mother asked, as if she were speaking to her favorite puppy.

She always did love Jackson. He was like the son she never had. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t hard to love Jackson. He was the golden child that every mother’s wet dream was made of.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted politely, grinning from ear to ear. “Some of my closest friends are at that camp.”

Your mother chuckled, having expected as much.

Your stepfather finally lowered the corner of his paper and called your name sternly, as if oblivious - or uncaring - to the conversation taking place.

You glanced up.

“Eat your food. It’s a long drive and I’ll hear nothing of you getting faint on your first day.”

Jackson and your mother both looked to you expectantly.

You flashed him a soft smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Stepfather number three, despite having more money than God, was surprisingly kind and considered you one of his own. There was a time you overheard him say you were the daughter he always wanted. His three sons had far surpassed mischief and landed in deviance, always on the hunt for his money.

The maid offered sweetly to make you some breakfast, whatever you would like, and you accepted. Jackson swiftly reached over and pinched your cheek in approval.

Most respectable parents would never be so lenient toward a friendship between a girl and a boy, but you knew your mother was hoping you and Jackson would get together. It would be a fine match in high society, given the status of your fathers.

Matter of fact, when she walked in on the two of you eating chocolate and watching movies while cuddled in bed, she was thoroughly disappointed you weren’t having sex.

When you finished eating, you dragged your feet upstairs to your room to get dressed for the trip. Jackson took a few extra minutes to clear his plate and then joined you.

Standing in front of three full panel mirrors in your bra and underwear, you alternated holding skirts up to yourself in the reflection. Jackson folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“What does one wear for total humiliation?” you asked dryly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Plaid probably,” he quipped, uncrossing his arms and slipping into your closet.

You turned, brow furrowed, and waited for him to come back.

When Jackson finally emerged, he tossed you a t-shirt and jeans. Casual at its finest.

You caught the clothes and surveyed them in surprise. “Really?”

“Put ‘em on,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s blow this town.”

You pulled the extra tight jeans on, fastening them with a huff, and pestered, “Do you have to be this excited?”

Jackson came close, taking your face between his hands and pushing your cheeks together. “The sooner we get there, the faster we can get drunk.”

You snickered, rolling your eyes.

The two of you came thundering down the stairs, reminiscent of times you and Jackson slid down the banisters as noisy kids. Your mother waited stiffly at the door, almost cracking a smile when you galloped into the kitchen and pressed a kiss in farewell to your stepfather’s cheek.

She may have been after his money like a cat on a mouse, but she inadvertently found a decent father for her only daughter.

Jackson said his hurried, loud goodbyes and slipped through the open door. You slowed down long enough to take your jacket from your mother’s waiting hand and endure one last scrutinizing gaze.

“Is he seeing someone?” she asked softly.

“Nope,” you chuckled, having expected some backhanded remark about your outfit.

Your mother spoke like she read a whimsical poem, “The two of you would make the most perfect couple this side of the Hudson.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” you teased, pecking a kiss on her cheek and trotting out the door.

The limousine rolled out onto the busy streets of New York City and you peered through the tinted windows. You watched as the looming skyscrapers turned to towering green trees.

As the drive went on, your nerves only grew.

With misplaced optimism, you turned to Jackson and said, “Maybe he won’t be there this year.”

Jackson didn’t even look up from his magazine and droned, “He’s been there every year since he was seven.”

You slumped in your seat, defeated. Clapping a hand on your forehead in self-chastisement, you groaned, “I should have been better, not worse.”

Jackson shifted, leaning back against you and resting his head on your chest. “I’ve never seen you so out of control,” he exclaimed, turning a page in the magazine. “And that says a lot.”

It said plenty. Jackson had warned you about Jaebeom many, many times. Though you held his opinion in high regard, you didn’t listen. You were blinded by love and had no one to blame but yourself.

You grabbed a handful of his brown hair and tugged playfully, earning a tiny whine. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, acerbic. “He stole all of the goodness out of me.”

Jackson scoffed and his tone became stern, “Don’t give him so much credit. And don’t put all of your goodness on your virginity, for fuck’s sake.”

You sighed loudly, thinking about Jaebeom and how he made your pulse race, how he sent fire racing down your spine. The thought of him made you want to cry and you quickly clenched your jaws.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I’m a bad girl now,” you countered, draping your arm over his chest. “I surrendered my virtuous flower to a boy who added another notch to his bed post.”

Of your memories with Jaebeom, and they were countless, among the stolen kisses and soft touches and sweet words, one stood out above all the rest. The last time you saw him - when he told you it was all a lie, just a game.

That he never loved you.

Jackson sat up, setting down his magazine and facing you. He could feel where your thoughts had wandered, screaming at him to ease the pain despite no words leaving your mouth. Meeting your eyes, Jackson wanted you to hear him even though the two of you had been over it many times already.

“You loved him,” he said, sympathetic but firm. “And he made it a good experience for you. Take that away from it.”

“You’re right,” you replied with a nod, holding back the tears and the quivering of your lip. “I need to let it go.”

Jackson cocked his head and pressed, “But?”

He knew you too well.

“But I can’t,” you whispered, lowering your head to hide your face in shame. “I can’t get over being in love with someone who never - not even for a moment - loved me back.”

Jackson balled his hands into fists. It had taken every inch of his goddamn restraint not to hop a plane, show up at Lim Jaebeom’s house, and beat the living shit out of him. You and his mother were the only people he was willing to go to jail for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped away the one tear that had escaped. You hated Jackson having to see you like this, staring at you like his precious wounded puppy. With a shrug, you gave a scoff and said, “I wonder who he will have his eyes on this year.”

Jackson frowned and settled back into his seat, shaking his head where the likes of Jaebeom was concerned. He knew three months of unadulterated fun for him were going to be total misery for you. For days he racked his brain over what he could do to help you get over Jaebeom.

Then, the metaphorical light bulb clicked over his head. Who would Jaebeom be pursuing this year? With you crossed off his list, there were simply no more challenges to be had.

Jackson smirked. The solution to this problem was clear as day. He would have to make Jaebeom chase you again.

“I have an idea,” Jackson muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with devilish intent.

“Oh, boy,” you laughed, recognizing his telltale mischief.

Jackson faced you, propping himself on hands positioned at either side of your legs. “You help me bag Yeona and I will help you make Jaebeom jealous,” he said, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

Your expression registered nothing but surprise. Yeona was the bane of Jackson’s romantic skills and the eye of his conquests for years. She was the only girl at camp not the least bit impressed with him and that drove him crazy.

At that thought you realized the similar dynamic. “Do you think that would work?” you asked curiously, piqued.

Relieved to see your approval, Jackson nodded. “He’s like me. He wants what he can’t have.”

To some degree, Jackson added in his head. He and Jaebeom had totally different motivations for stealing hearts.

You questioned in disbelief, “So… what? We just walk around making out all the time?”

Jackson snorted. “Within moderation, obviously. Don’t want to completely turn off either of our targets.”

One of the main reasons you never hooked up with Jackson (on more than one occasion you had been tempted) was to spite your insufferable mother after what she had put you through. That being said, you had kissed him more than once. Usually when dared to do so at parties or during sleepovers when you bared your deepest, darkest secrets to each other. It was always innocent, but this felt forbidden and impure.

You loved the idea.

“Hm, okay,” you said, noncommittal. “At this point, I’ll do anything to make him as miserable as I am.”

Jackson grinned and chuckled. “Take my word for it. There is nothing more miserable than blue balls.”

You pursed your lips, mulling, “He’s already had me. He won’t want me again.”

“I’ll convince him you’re worth having,” Jackson replied, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. “And you’ll do the same to Yeona about me.”

“What makes you think Yeona will be that hard to get? You’ve never really pursued her before.”

Jackson slid to the edge of the seat and reached for a bottle of alcohol currently sitting on ice. “She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

That explained why he threw in the towel so quickly. You cocked a brow and chuckled, “Really?”

Jackson nodded, popping open the bottle of champagne and grabbing two glasses. “Yeah, even wears a promise ring.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” you smarted, taking the flute of bubbly he extended to you.

Jackson glanced up briefly before pouring his own glass, hair falling in his eyes, and said, “Don’t wallow in self-pity again.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly defended, “No, I’m not. It’s just… I wasn’t saving myself for marriage, but I was saving myself for someone that loved me.”

Jackson exhaled loudly.

You hated hearing his disappointment and ranted irritably, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It wasn’t even good. There was no leg shaking orgasm. It was messy and uncomfortable and whatever.”

“That’s because it was your first time,” Jackson said, putting the glass to his lips.

You took a sip. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jackson leaned on his side, sizing you up. His eyes drifted up and down your body. He hated seeing you bent out of shape over a boy, least of all hot garbage like Lim Jaebeom.

After a pause, the following words dripped like honey off his tongue, “We could fool around, you know.”

You almost choked on your champagne, wondering if you heard him clearly or if it was a figment of your imagination. You exclaimed, “What?”

“You and me,” Jackson continued, sidling closer. “I could show you what all the fuss is about.”

He sounded so smug when he said that, his voice even deeper. You swallowed at the offer and asked, “Would that be awkward?”

“No, it would just be sex. No strings attached.”

The knife in your heart twisted and you peered at him. “Could you make me forget about Jaebeom?”

Jackson leaned in. “Baby, I could make you see stars.”

Heat flushed behind your cheeks and you glanced away, faltering under the sudden tension in the limousine. “I’ll think about it,” you finally told him.

Satisfied, Jackson grinned and made himself comfortable, opening the magazine again and proceeding to read.

You surveyed Jackson out of the corner of your eye, lingering on his thick thighs. Years of fencing had built him strong, sturdy. When Jackson said he could make you see stars, you were inclined to believe him.

Especially since the vast majority of his exes tended to brag about how good he was in bed.

You thought about Jaebeom. You wanted him to go crazy at the sight of you in Jackson’s arms. You craved revenge, to serve him a taste of his own medicine, no matter what it cost.

The car eventually came to a stop on the gravel road. Attendants were ready to unload your luggage and transport it to your respective rooms. It may have been a camp for unruly brats, but said brats came from very affluent parents.

An older woman stood by the gate, black hair glistening a little too fiercely in the sunlight. Clearly she had sprayed dye on her graying roots.

“Ah, you two again,” she grimaced at yours and Jackson’s approach.

You took the keys from her outstretched hand and continued on your way without a word. Jackson on the other hand, leaned in with puckered lips and jeered, “Always a pleasure, Miss Hamm.”

“Hmph.”

You continued on the path with your best friend in tow. Your cabin was in sight, on the bluff beside the lake. Jackson’s was adjacent, slightly lower down. Your parents made sure you had the same spots each year, always furnished and equipped with everything you needed.

Some of the campers lived in bunkhouses with other roommates, but not you. Your first year, you swore to your mother if you were forced to bunk with other girls you would not stop until you got yourself sent home. It was an easy compromise to make. She loved traveling during the summer with stepfather number two.

You stopped and pivoted to Jackson, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Meet at the mess hall?”

Naturally his mind was on food, you mused. “Of course.”

Jackson looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “Don’t hide in there from him. Remember - I got your back.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

The two of you broke away at the fork in the road, taking opposite paths to your cabins.

Dropping your purse, you plopped down on the brand new mattress, gripping the sides and looking down at your shoes. The air conditioning had been turned on, the cabin had already cooled off. You would never know how hot it was outside whilst inside your pink-themed prison.

The camp was meant to reform. It didn’t matter that you were a legal adult, you still belonged to a rich and influential family in high society. It was like the parents knew their spoiled, entitled children would indulge in bad behaviors, therefore it was best they did so in controlled environments.

You already imagined the endless nights of booze and debauchery awaiting you for the next three months. Maybe it was time you embraced the darker side of life like you used to, rather than wasting away and pining over a boy.

Rising from the bed, you approached the nearby bathroom and braced your hands on the sink. Studying your reflection, you wanted to curse. You looked like a shadow of your former self.

The girl you knew was confident, vivacious, and a rebel to the core. You were quieter now, tempered. An experience like last summer had opened your eyes to how cruel the world really was.

Still, you were ready to buck up. Jackson had a plan and you were willing to execute if it meant you would have some kind of absolution. Splashing water on your face, you dabbed your cheeks with a cloth and headed outside.

The largest of the buildings, the mess hall was loud and chaotic. The majority of kids went straight to the line for food, hungry after a long trip. The place was alive with a hundred different conversations, varying levels of chatter. Friends reunited dramatically in the aisleways.

You searched for a friendly face, desperate to avoid Jaebeom for now, and spotted a head of platinum hair. Approaching the scrawny boy, you grabbed a handful of blond locks and teased, “Bam, I thought you were gonna let your poor scalp breathe?”

Bambam didn’t flinch at the brief tug on his head and turned to meet your grin with one of his own. “Hey, beautiful,” he exclaimed, leaping up to envelope you in a warm hug. “Thought you were gonna try and avoid this place for once?”

“Yeah, well,” you said coolly with a shrug. “Bad behaviors are hard to break.”

“You’re telling me,” huffed Bambam as he lowered back onto the row with you at his side. “I landed myself back here in the first week of the semester.”

You laughed, smoothing down where you had disrupted his hair. “I expect nothing less.” Looking across the table, you met eyes with Bambam’s best friend and partner in crime, Yugyeom, and greeted, “Hey, Yugy.”

“Hi. I’m glad you came back! Well, not glad, obviously, but…,” Yugyeom rambled, cheeks reddening. “Happy you’re here. You know, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks,” you replied shyly.

“Any sign of Jackson?” Bambam asked, glancing around. “Don’t you always come together?”

Yugyeom kindly pushed his plate of fruit in your direction and you thanked him. “Yeah, we did. He was supposed to meet me here,” you answered, popping a grape in your mouth.

“Probably sneaking a smoke with Mark,” Bambam grumbled quietly under his breath.

Yugyeom cleared his throat loudly, looking at something behind you.

Just as you turned around, brows stitched, someone sat at your side.

It was Jaebeom.

He didn’t face the table like the rest of you, he straddled the seat, squarely in your direction.

“Hi, baby girl. Imagine my surprise when I heard about all the trouble you got yourself into,” Jaebeom taunted, clicking his tongue in feigned reproach. His fingertips came to your temple, slipping through your loose hair and tucking it behind your ear.

You couldn’t breathe and you certainly couldn’t think. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He smelled so good. The mere touch of his fingers made you freeze in place. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I…,” you trailed, hesitating, lost for words. What the hell were you supposed to say?

I love you, but I hate you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Jaebeom cooed, stroking a finger over your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes. Even Yugyeom seethed at how Jaebeom was toying with you.

This was the humiliation you had been anticipating and dreading. You knew Jaebeom wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind you that he stole your heart and your virginity and left you with nothing.

The whole camp knew that you had given it up. That you had been such a fool to believe for a second that Jaebeom loved you.

Blind. Blind. Blind, you chanted in your head.

Jackson appeared out of thin air, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and pulling him from you. “Can I help you find something?” your best friend snapped.

Jaebeom rose, agitated at being challenged. “The fuck are you doing, Wang?”

Jackson drifted closer to Jaebeom, aggressive. “Keep your hands off my girl.”

Jaebeom’s eyes widened. “Your girl?”

“You heard me,” Jackson hissed, turning to you.

You remembered the game. Jackson’s eyes were expectant.

Finding your voice, you took a breath. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you, Jaebeom,” you began softly, rising from your seat and backing into Jackson, who didn’t miss a beat in wrapping his arms possessively around you. “I’ve moved onto bigger and better things. And I mean much, much bigger.”

Bambam beat his fist on the table, cackling wildly.

Jaebeom scowled, but there was skepticism bold in his eyes. Jackson promptly wiggled his brows and stroked his hands on your waist, intentionally making your shirt ride up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” you sang, interlacing your fingers with Jackson’s underneath the hem of your shirt. “We’re gonna go make out in the hallway. Seeing Daddy get territorial really does it for me.”

Jackson wagged his tongue at Jaebeom, gladly laughing at his expense, as you squeezed his hand and proceeded to drag your best friend behind you into the hallway.

Jaebeom watched you go, eyes narrowed. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had known you for years, Jackson too. He couldn’t imagine driving you into Jackson’s arms. Not with how fierce and loyal your friendship was.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Once in the clear, you backed against the wall and giggled. “Oh my god, did you see his face?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth as you chuckled.

Jackson tickled your sides and joked, “Look at your little sick and twisted self. I’m so proud.”

The door next to you opened and like clockwork, Jaebeom stepped out.

The grin vanished from your face in an instant and you quickly grabbed Jackson by the collar, yanking him forward. Jackson collided into you none too gently and grunted, silenced only by your lips suddenly on his.

Jaebeom could hardly believe his eyes. There you were, swept up in Jackson’s arms with your tongue down his throat. He was green with fucking envy. It had taken him a whole summer to open you up and now you were throwing yourself at Jackson of all people.

Jackson slipped his hands beneath your shirt and roamed his hands up your sides, giving Jaebeom a glimpse of your soft skin. You overlapped your arms around his head, making little noises in the heat of his kisses.

Jaebeom felt a twitch in his pants at the sounds you made. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to be in his arms, kissing him like he was all you had thought about every day since he ripped your heart out and crushed it in his hand for all to see.

“Pfft,” Jaebeom snorted, hiding his jealousy. “Glad I could break her in for you, Jacks.”

Neither of you heard him, which was lucky for Jaebeom because Jackson would not have hesitated to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Jaebeom cleared out. He couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Not when he had spent every day wondering if you would forgive him. Jaebeom shook his head as he continued down the hall, reminded what a stupid fucking mistake he had made.

Kissing Jackson made you forget what you were doing, where you were, and basically any and all information you were meant to be processing at the moment. Finally a sense of clarity hit you, though you had no earthly clue where it had come from.

Breaking away, you panted, “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to lay down some ground rules.”

Jackson kneaded your waist and nipped at your lips, ever flirtatious. His voice came out a rasp when he said, “Give ‘em to me.”

“No sleeping around,” you told him sternly. “I’ve never had a sexually transmitted disease and I’m not starting now.”

Jackson bobbed his head, eager to kiss you again. “Deal.”

“When you get Yeona or I get Jaebeom, what’s between us is done.”

“Agreed.”

You softened, pulling him close for a brief, innocent peck on the lips. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed Jackson and it wouldn’t be the last.

But you realized when you were kissing Jackson, you forgot about Jaebeom and your feelings.

And that was dangerous.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered delicately, tracing hair from his brow lightly with your fingers. “If either of us starts getting feelings, we shut this down.”

Jackson studied you a moment. He knew he loved you. He had loved you a long time. But it was an innocent love, not a complicated one. You were the only person he trusted with his heart. The only person he knew would never hurt him.

He wouldn’t catch feelings for you, would he? It wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t allow himself to get attached romantically. He hated the idea of commitment or monogamy, after seeing what his parents’ marriage had devolved into.

“Got it,” Jackson finally said, offering a gentle smile.

You swallowed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jaebeom was gone. There was no one to convince anymore.

Jackson let his hands slip from your body. “We should go back.”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

Jackson noted the heat on your face, the glistening of your lips and the twinkles in your eyes. Forget making you see stars, Jackson knew in that moment he could absolutely ruin you.

He gathered you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him, and as you peered up at him confusedly, Jackson growled, “Let’s go to my cabin.”

A long, heavy silence wrapped around you and him. The weight of what you were doing landed squarely on your shoulders. And despite that, you found yourself not giving a damn.

Lips tugging in a smile, you purred, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

But even as Jackson led you by the hand out of the mess hall, you glanced over your shoulder, looking for Jaebeom.

Wanting him to see. Wanting it to hurt him. Wanting to make him crazy.

But mostly, just wanting him to love you.

next chapter →

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[delwrites]

Dating Tom Holland Headcannons

if you’d like me to expand on any concepts, drop me a request! I have loads of ideas oof

also, these are just my opinions and thoughts! so there will definitely be some ooc and we may disagree, but do feel free to tell me which points you disagree with! would love some feedback :)

right i’m sorry I’ve no clue why but I just see him as quite an emotional person? like him being so mature that he’s just fully intact with his feelings and doesn’t ever feel the need to hide them around you because he knows you wouldn’t judge him. like him having a lot of rough days but as soon as he sees you just instantly perking up a little bit

or literally just collapsing in your lap when you’re trying to watch something on the sofa and him just letting it all out for you to listen to as you hug his head to your chest and run your fingers through his hair

him being so scared he’s gonna lose you as you’re literally a goddess in his eyes so he always makes sure you’re happy 

him always letting you choose whatever you guys watch (as most of the time he will concentrate more on you than the tv)

he would build you both a blanket fort with fairy lights and pillows and it would be the most comfy thing ever

if you choose to put on a scary film, expect him to be stuck to your side like glue, hiding his face in your neck/ chest in the scary scenes because he doesn’t care about being a mAnLy MaN

he would DEMAND that you carry him up to bed because he insists that if he leaves the cocoon of warmth that your providing, the monsters may get him

him being the bigGEST MAN-CHILD WITH YOU OH GOD

like you two literally just playing games and stuff

playing just dance and him being surprisingly good?

but then beating his behind at Mario kart

also side note but you and paddy would get along SO WELL and you’d spoil the life out of him and play games with him, and whenever you play Mario kart with him and Tom, you’d let paddy win, you’d be in 2nd place and Tom would be all the way back in 11th absjdjd

“well, at least I didn’t lose?”

and both playing animal crossing together and visiting each others islands and his is a mess whilst yours is all vibes and lovely

you and him having FIGHTS over monopoly BSIDHSHS that game RUINS friendships I swear

DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON LEGO HSCGIYSEGCI

him buying you a promise ring AWWWEEE and then claiming it’s because he wants a part of him on your person at all times (so naturally, you never take it off)

him going shopping with you because he’s the biggest hype man and always going in the dressing rooms with you so you end up buying loads of outfits because he assures you that you look incredible in all of them

him carrying majority of your bags and holding open all of the doors for you (which would admittedly be a bit of a struggle with the amount of bags he ends up carrying for you VUGJYBEK)

the pap pictures this would provide!!!

also you going on dog walks with him and Tessa and him always insisting you take his coat if you ever forget yours

always visiting him on set whenever you can

whenever he has free days spending them not doing anything just cuddling into your side

him trying to teach you basketball but you always being clumsy and dropping the ball

if you ever trip best believe he wouLD NOT LAUGH ITS LIKE YOU’VE DIED

RDJ literally adopts you because we all have daddy issues and we all need that in our lives

then tom and his dynamic becoming so much more like Tony and Peters dynamic HDSBDYAB

tom asking rdj for permission before doing practically anything with you 

“um, sir, could I borrow your daughter? for like, the rest of our lives?” FUHIFUEHIUFH

rdj being so protective of you oh lord

and you always going to him for advice because he’s a wise soul who can always help you, especially with relationship advice 

tom getting low-key jealous pretty often, like although he has full trust in you, he (as previously mentioned) views you as a goddess who is just the definition of beauty and love and believes that you could have any man in the room (which you can queen go off) and constantly being nervous that something will happen

him being really good at not showing it though

death stares from across the room and then giving you the sweetest smile if you look (like seriously, too sweet, suspiciously sweet)

I feel like when you both get alone his demeanour just instantly changes and he goes really cold and distant all of a sudden, it’s almost as if he deflates, the drive home being so tense and him going directly to his room when you get home, but later on he gets sick of ignoring you and goes to you to talk about it properly and makes it up to you

your confidence sky-rocketing when getting with him because he gives the most obscure and yet heartfelt compliments at any chance he gets, so you know they've come from heart with how random they are 

“yes darling work that top!”

“love, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but you ears are really pretty?”

right I know this is literally everywhere but lets be real here, he ADORES you in his hoodies. sharing clothes is so intimate to him, and each time he sees you walking about so casually in his clothes, he falls that little bit more in love with you (no matter how much he thinks that that isn’t possible)

you accidentally walking in on his lives and either saying the most chaotic or the most lovely things, and the chat absolutely living for it

“Love, are you busy? I was just thinking about taking Tessa on a walk, to that park she loves?”

or,,, “THOMAS STANLEY HOLLAND! IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONE MORE TIME TO TAKE YOUR DIRTY PLATES TO THE KITCHEN, I WILL SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST! I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER, NOR YOUR CARER, SO DON’T TREAT ME AS SUCH!”

the chat blowing up being little shit stirrers like ‘oooohhhh she called him by his full name he’s in troubleeee’

Tom just pointing at his phone timidly being like “darling.. I’m live right now..”

“I DONT CARE! SORT YOURSELF OUT, YOU CAVEMAN”

him getting so embarrassed BDKDNDJD

also I’m sorry right but bathing together after a long and difficult week, or after not seeing each other due to contradicting schedules and what not, not in a sexy times way or anything but just being so intimate and comfortable around each other

and obviously this little pamper night would call for doing face masks together and painting each other’s nails

him finding it so fun to paint your nails (even though they end up really messy BDJDNDJD)

he is a magnificent chef and no one may tell me otherwise

having the arrangement of him always cooking dinner and you always washing up the dishes

but after he sees you dancing around the sink, ending up joining you (after watching you for a minute of two with heart eyes, of course)

even though he is an incredible cook, being such a bad baker. like, for one of your anniversaries, he tries to bake you a cake, but it ends up literally bubbling in the oven and spilling over the sides and never cooking all the way through and it just being a mess

you trying it out of pity and ending up getting ill, so he stays in with you to take care of you because even though both of you fail to admit it aloud, it was him who made you poorly

you decide to do all the baking at that point

every time you do decide to bake anything, always saving him the biggest and best piece

and don't even get me started on how well you’d get along with his family

like the first time he introduced you to them they were all so so so welcoming and loving and literally just took you in as their own (not as much as rob did though rdj is number one)

again, always playing with paddy

teaching paddy how to bake AWWW and always getting him the best presents

you, harry and sam literally just embarrassing tom with stories

you and harry deciding to prank tom together because tom pranked you once ages ago but after your reaction, decided never again, so of course you have to get him back

Tessa loving you so much, and tom always being able to tell when she misses you (mainly because he can relate)

having an argument that he didn't think was a big deal and where he thought you were overreacting but then hearing you call him Thomas and it setting in that it is a big deal to you and fixing it

again, please do send me an ask or pm me if you'd like me to expand on any of these! im just overflowing with ideas for this incredible man, so do ask :)

[dixie12]

so @tarcanza showed me this pic, which i had somehow never seen before. and then i spent the next 12 hours obsessing over it. i have no idea of the context, but really, who needs context when you have fic!

a frat au featuring drunk jonny, beleaguered pat, and devious sharpy

pat walked into the Sig Ep house just after midnight, and was immediately surrounded by a thrum of bodies and the pulsing beat of music. he'd spent the last week pretty much living in the library, holed up in a study room working on his engineering midterm, and he'd finally submitted it, a whole three minutes before the deadline. the walk back to the house was nearly deserted, everyone on campus several hours into partying by now, and the noise as he walked in the front door was a shock.

before he could even take his coat off, sharpy saw him just inside the entryway. it was like the guy had a tracker on him, jeez. pat gave him a tired smile, wondering how quickly he could get away from sharpy and up to his room. after the last week, he just wanted to collapse in bed and not move for at least 12 hours. preferably with jonny there with him. he scanned the room quickly, looking for jonny, as sharpy half-jogged over to him and threw an arm over his shoulders. 

"peeks!" he yelled in patrick's ear. pat cringed at the alcohol on his breath. he must have pre-gamed for a while before the party tonight. "peeks!" he repeated. "you have to see this!" he said excitedly, dragging pat by the arm he had over his shoulders. it was easier to just go with sharpy rather than fight about it, so he trailed along willingly, catching sight of a few of their brothers and a lot of drunk guests along the way. they walked through the kitchen and into the living room, where the first thing patrick saw was

"who the fuck gave jonny tequila?" he demanded. jonny handled most alcohol like a pro- could shotgun beers all night, take jello shots, straight vodka, most mixed drinks, whatever. but tequila. tequila always fucked him up. and seeing as jonny was currently surveying the room from atop the coffee table, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, cheeks flushed and grinning as he swayed to the music alone, beer lifted like he was toasting the room at large, yea. someone had given him tequila. 

pat poked an accusing finger into sharpy's chest. "was this your doing, sharp? you know tequila messes him up." sharpy raised his hands, pulling a 'who me??' face that might have worked on every single one of their professors, but patrick had known him way too long. 

"look, all i did was make a round of margaritas, and then when he said he didn’t want one, told him that was a good idea, since only real men can handle tequila.“ sharpy was laughing now. “before i knew it, he’d snaked the bottle from me! your boy has catlike reflexes, man. by the time i got it back, he’d taken a few shots right from the bottle.” pat glared at him. “oh come on, at least he's having fun! he's been a total debbie downer all week." pat couldn't really argue with that- he'd barely left the library recently; he didn't think he and jonny had even shared a meal this week. 

“patrick!” jonny yelled, catching sight of him from atop the table, face lighting up. it looked like he was going to jump down, and the last thing they needed was their hockey captain breaking an ankle on an ill-advised leap. pat held up his hands and pushed through the crowd, arriving just in time to break jonny’s fall as he stumbled on the landing. “patrick,” he said again, quieter, into pat’s hair. he pulled back, and the look of pure delight on jonny’s face made pat glow. “i missed you,” jonny said, nuzzling pat’s hair before kissing his temple, holding him close. “you get your project done?”

“yea, finally,” pat replied, swaying gently to the music as jonny held onto him.

“good,” jonny murmured. “that’s good.” they stayed like that for a few moments, and pat could almost forget the party going on around them until someone bumped into them, pressing jonny harder into him. that seemed to shake jonny out of the quiet mood he’d fallen into, like it surged the tequila through his veins again. “we should dance!” jonny said excitedly, and oh wow, he was wasted. jonny never wanted to dance. pat usually had to resort to all kinds of dirty bribery and blackmail to get jonny to join him for a few songs. if jonny actually wanted to get out there tonight, pat’s dreams of collapsing in bed could definitely wait. 

pat grabbed the beer can from jonny’s hand. It was almost full, like jonny had picked it up and then forgotten to drink it. pat brought it to his own mouth, chugging it and letting the alcohol warm up from the inside, loosen him up a little. 

he let jonny drag him out into the crowd, and he settled in behind jonny, grinding up a little against his perfect ass. he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep a night for the last several nights, but he’d always have the energy for this. he had his hands on jonny’s hips, and jonny arched back into him, neck beautifully long, and pat leaned forward to nip at it, going up on his tiptoes to lay a few kisses over the gorgeous length of it, biting just a little. he heard jonny groan, watched his head drop down, rhythm faltering for a second. 

he leaned up again, letting his hands wander over jonny’s chest, feeling the solid muscle of it under the damp skin. he skimmed his fingers over jonny’s nipples, just to hear him gasp, feel him grind back harder into pat. 

“fuuuck, pat,” jonny moaned. “missed you so much this week,” and pat was surprised by that. even tequila-drunk-jonny didn’t usually get emotional like that, much more likely to be happy and handsy. not that he wasn’t handsy now. he interlaced his hand with one of pat’s, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking on one of pat’s fingers, swirling his tongue around like he was sucking pat’s cock, instead. through his exhaustion, pat felt his dick twitch in interest. maybe he could convince jonny they’d danced enough, drag him up to their room.

he grabbed jonny’s hip, turning him around to face pat. he was planning to whisper in jonny’s ear, something dirty to get him out of the crowd and upstairs, but jonny pushed up on him as soon as he was turned, grabbing his ass and pulling him close, and oh. if pat’s dick was starting to take interest, jonny’s was definitely already there, thick and hard, grinding insistently into his thigh that jonny had worked between his legs. fuck that felt good.

pat closed his eyes, getting lost in the feeling for a few minutes. jonny was hot all against him, hips working, small groans dropping from his lips, and pat could hear him start to pant. he drew back to look at him, and jonny was dazed, eyes hazy and heavy-lidded. jesus, pat recognized that look. jonny was close, from just some grinding, surrounded by a crowd of drunk frat guys.

“hey, hey,” he said, stepping back and putting some distance between them. 

“what?” jonny mumbled, hips thrusting against nothing a few times before he realized pat wasn’t there anymore. he dragged his eyes fully open, looking down at pat in confusion. he looked so fucking good like this, flush high on his cheeks, corded forearms exposed where he’d rolled up his sleeves, jeans tented around his obvious hard-on, breathing hard. 

“hey, let’s get up upstairs,” pat suggested, taking jonny’s hand and meaning to pull him towards the staircase, but jonny resisted. 

“fuck, pat, so close baby. please,” he said, words coming out in breathy little moans. pat’s self-control was seriously frayed, and he struggled not to give in. until jonny leaned down, getting pat’s earlobe between his teeth, tugging gently. “please,” he whispered, right into pat’s ear, and fuck if that didn’t get him every time. pat shivered, willpower giving up the fight for the night.

“ok, ok, but not here, come on,” he said, pulling jonny out the door towards the patio. the november air was crisp, the patio empty as they walked out, but pat pushed jonny up against the brick wall in the shadows anyway. no use risking exposure that they didn’t absolutely have to. given the look of desperation on jonny’s face, pat was pretty sure he would have been perfectly happy just rubbing off on pat. the beat of the music was still loud and obvious outside, and jonny leaned in like he was going to do just that.

pat pushed him back against the wall, though, and dropped to his knees. the ground was hard, but he didn’t think this was going to take long at all. he opened the button on jonny’s jeans, slid the zipper down as jonny cursed above him. he worked the jeans as far down jonny’s thick thighs as he could, then slid his boxers down too. and yea, jonny’s cock was blood-hot, foreskin already drawn back, precome slicking down his shaft, balls drawn up tight. this wasn’t going to take long at all.

pat took him in his mouth, enjoying the sharp taste of the precome. it had been too long since they’d done this, school and hockey taking up most of their time. jonny reached a hand down into pat’s curls, but pat pulled off.

“palms on the wall, JT,” he said with a smirk, reverting back to jonny’s freshman year pledge nickname. jonny moaned again at the instruction. he might be bigger and stronger than pat, something that he never let pat forget when they were working out together, but he fucking loved it when pat bossed him around, and tonight was no different. “you’re gonna take what i give you, jonny, and you’re gonna like it.”

“fuck, fuck, pat. yea. whatever you want,” he said, words sliding together in a hurried slur. 

“good boy,” pat answered, and got to work. 

it was only a few minutes later that jonny was coming hard down pat’s throat. pat stood up, wincing as he brushed the dirt off his jeans, and they leaned into each other, jonny coming down from what felt like a powerful orgasm, and pat enjoying jonny’s bulk around him.

“was worried about you, man,” jonny whispered, breaking the silence between them. “you were killing yourself on that project. wanted to make you feel good when you got back, but fuck, you just looked so good, finally home with me, i couldn’t resist.”

the gentle smile on jonny’s face was everything pat could have asked for.

“you always make me feel good, baby.”

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

food

Jaime x Brienne + alternate love languages

For @naomignome

Author’s Note: The previous ficlets, I was writing from their POV for each love language and how they receive that from the other person. Example: how Brienne hears/receives words of affirmation from Jaime. This is flipped, where I’m writing it from the POV of the person who is communicating the love (if that makes sense.)

*

They are both, somehow, alive. The sun peeks over the distant horizon. Carnage and ashes surround them, the stench of battle filling their noses. 

Her chambers. Armor coming off with shaky hands, dirt and sweat stained bodies sagging as they fall into merciful sleep. 

Jaime wakes, not in cold darkness as he expects, but with the quiet rustle of flames in the hearth. The floor is no longer littered with armor. It sits across the table and chairs, his and hers, polished so carefully, the firelight dancing in its sheen. 

Before his feet hit the floor, he knows where he will find her. She is in the moonlit yard, helping the other men build the pyres. He coaxes her back to bed, somehow, but the next morning, he wakes to find her side of the bed already empty. 

The circles under her eyes darken and grow deeper. The crease in her brow remains constant. It is on the third day when he touches her hand in passing, feels the cold clamminess of it, and worries she is turning into one of the creatures they fought. “Bed. Now.” he orders.

She objects, even as he steers her towards their room. She has to help rebuild. It is not your home, my lady. Unless you plan to stay. She has to protect Sansa. You are not Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. She has her guard. What will Pod think? The boy would not wish to see you ill.  

He brings her broth and the freshest bread (for the latter, he might have bribed the kitchen maid to set it aside for him, but Brienne does not need to know) and she swirls the spoon like a petulant child until he threatens to feed her himself. “You’ll end up with broth slung all over the bed sheets,” he teases her, gesturing with his stump. 

In the evening, Pod arrives with more hearty fare and another man carrying a pile of furs. “Before you object that we are stealing these from some unsuspecting soul who needs them when we have plenty,” he tells her after they leave. “Lady Sansa said she was happy to loan them.” He spends far too long arranging the furs and pillows on the hard stone floor in front of the fireplace before he approaches the bed and takes her hand. From the look on her face, she is too shocked to speak.

He arranges the furs carefully around her, Brienne leaning back against him, and he reclines against the legs of a chair. The somewhat uncomfortable seat is worth it for the little sigh she exhales when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder, the two of them watching the fire. 

She dozes against him and his heart quickens, listening to her steady breath, noticing the way her fingers curl against his thigh. I love you. 

He has said it so rarely since they confessed their feelings to each other, afraid saying it too often would lessen its meaning.  

The next morning, when they wake together, he asks her about Tarth. “Do you mean to return?” 

A shadow passes over her face and her eyes shift away from his. “I should go and see my father.” It sounds like duty more than longing, and he is not sure what to make of that, so instead he kisses her and tells he loves her. It earns him a soft smile, and it is all so easy.

*

On the boat to Tarth, she is excited to show him her home. Her face is open and bright as she tucks her long body against his on the deck. They watch the island grow closer, Brienne pointing out things, her voice soft in his ear, making him shiver. 

When they step off the ship, there is a cavalcade of men awaiting them. Brienne embraces one of them before stepping back and taking his arm, introducing Jaime to her cousin Endrew. “Where is my father?” There is the shadow passing over her face again and an inkling of understanding begins to form. 

“He is waiting to greet you at Evenfall,” her cousin replies.  

Except he is not waiting, he is still meeting with whatever Tarth farmer needs counsel rather than his own daughter, returned from war. 

Finally, a man with broad shoulders and a portly belly appears in the doorway. He has the same broad face as Brienne, only his is half covered by a neatly trimmed white beard. He smiles and opens his arms for a hug, his gray eyes shimmering in the bright white marble of the entrance hall. 

Jaime does not expect her father to be thrilled that she has brought the Kingslayer himself home, but there is skepticism and disappointment on Selwyn’s face which he cannot hide. Brienne asks if he wants to accompany them on a walk before the evening meal, but he brushes her aside, saying he has meetings and duties and and. 

Brienne is oddly quiet as she shows him Evenfall. They take their walk through the grounds, just the two of them, but Jaime notices how she walks a few steps ahead of him, lost in her own thoughts. 

Selwyn is polite, but not warm. At dinner, he asks about their journey, fills Brienne in on trivial matters around the island, but after the small talk is dispensed with, he has little else to say. No questions about Brienne’s experiences on the mainland, none about the man she brought with her. 

There is an absence. An absence in him, an absence which echoes in the halls of this castle. Echoes of her brother, her mother, her siblings. How much grief Brienne has known, true grief, not the false feelings he felt at the news that his eldest son was dead, the mask he wore at his father’s vigil. The dutiful son, the dutiful soldier. 

No, Brienne still carried the memories of her loved ones within, a part of her so deep and recessed, even he did not have access. The longer they sit at her father’s table, the more Jaime realizes she never wished him to see it. Brienne did not want him to see how her father’s ignorance, his neglect, cast such a long shadow over his remaining child. But Jaime does see. The steel core of her begins to melt away. He watches those strong shoulders slump under the weight of childhood hurt. All those half-healed scars.

Brienne has never needed him to protect her. Not when they got taken by the Bloody Mummers, not even at the bear pit, not any moment since, but he wants to stretch his good arm down the length of the table, take up the Evenstar by his collar and shake him. Make him listen, tell him all the ways he should be on his knees thanking his daughter.

Jaime’s hand shakes, thinking of all the words he might use to explain what Brienne has done for him, much less half the kingdom. 

She told me to live. 

She allows him to simply be the man he always wished to be, because she knows he is capable. She does not discredit him for his faults, just as he does not discredit her for hers. It sounds emotionally distant to say they love one another justly, but it’s true. It is equanimity. Any space they are together is one where he can breathe, after decades of what felt like drowning.

He loves her more than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but he does not let it stop him from trying. Words and deeds and touch and the very air in his lungs.

I am so, so sorry, my darling, he tells her that night. She likely does not know what he means, it could easily be an apology for his reputation, the deed which cast the die for his life for so long. He means it as an apology, one which she will never get from her father.  

The next morning, Brienne has gone down to breakfast before he wakes. Standing outside the great hall, he hears their voices echoing inside. “Will you live at the Rock then?” 

“I--I always planned to serve in your stead, but I know that is not what you wished of me.” 

“Nonsense, I only wished you to be happy.” 

“I am.” After a moment, so quietly he has to lean towards the door to hear. “We chose each other.” 

Upon hearing that, Jaime walks outside, needing fresh air. She finds him in the gardens, hand clutched around the seat of a stone bench. He tugs her down into his lap. “I am very proud of you.” 

“Proud of me?” Her forehead wrinkles into that familiar frown. “Why?” 

“Do I need a reason?” he asks in the moment before his mouth covers hers.

*

Their wedding party is tiny and Brienne refuses to have the ceremony in the sept, so they wed on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It is near sunset and light spills across the water in an orangey glow, shimmering in the gold trimmings on her wedding cloak. 

At the small feast afterwards, her father reminds him that Brienne once swore she would only ever wed if the man could beat her in the yard. “She has already done that, my lord, I assure you,” Jaime replies in a voice which makes her whole body flush.

“That is when you were in shackles,” Brienne says, once they are alone in her chambers. 

He laughs. “Well, it is too late now, my love. We are wed.” 

Her blue eyes glitter at him from the other side of the room. “You mean you will not spar with me on our wedding night? I never knew you to be so dull.” 

Jaime chases her around the bed, making her shriek with laughter, and when he catches her, they wrestle against each other on the mattress, both of them grinning like fools. “I happen to know you are quite good at the other type of sparring.”

“Jaime,” she chides him, but a soft laugh falls from her lips as she bends down to kiss him. 

It is well past midnight when she drags him out to the yard. “You cannot let me win,” she warns him at one point as their tourney swords clash. 

He chuckles between his gritted teeth until Brienne breaks the hold they are in. “You forget I am much older than you.”

“No excuses, old man,” she winks at him. 

Jaime knows it is worthless to protest about his left hand. They both fought the dead. Only he likes when Brienne--his wife--can easily best him and it is difficult to summon up his usual competitiveness when she executes a particularly thrilling move. 

He ends up in a rather vulnerable position, on his knees in the dirt, her sword pointed at his throat, only to revel in the slow realization dawning in her eyes. She’s won. That is until he bats her wooden tourney sword away with his left hand and tackles her to the ground. “You cheated.” she accuses, once they both get their breath back. 

He smirks at her, slipping his hand underneath her tunic, delicate fingertips against her skin. “We’ll call it even.”

*

When her father passes, Brienne throws herself into all the things which need to be done. He is the one who coaxes her back to bed. She has to allow herself to rest. She has to allow herself to mourn. She’ll do no one any good running herself ragged. 

This time, he does not have to bribe the kitchen maids. They make Brienne’s favorite dishes and willingly wake in the middle of the night to show Jaime how to warm milk for her, served with a dash of honey, to help her go back to sleep. 

“We were very much alike,” she says to him a few days later, when they are walking in the gardens. “Headstrong. That is why we fought so often.” Jaime is tempted to tell her all the ways they were different, but it would not help anything. Right now, the most important thing he can provide is solace, not unwanted advice. “He tried so hard to understand me. He only wanted something to go right. To see me happily wed, except that was something he wanted. It was not what I wanted. So then,” she takes a shaky breath. “He finally let me go, even though I know he was mocked, chastised that he could not control his own daughter.”

“You represented him honorably. No one could accuse you otherwise.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “And if they try, you can face them in the yard.” 

She has not laughed since her father died, but she smiles then and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.” 

*

Their fifth year of marriage, he arranges for their friends to travel to Tarth. It is an unrealistic request for most, he realizes, but everyone comes. Lady Sansa, his brother, Pod and Peck and Gendry, all of the people who know Brienne’s selflessness and his luck. There is cake and fruit and all manner of sweet things Brienne says she does not like, but which he knows she secretly enjoys. Meat pies and cheese and warm, fresh-baked bread. There is laughter and stories spun over a long meal and good wine. In some ways, it is a happier day than their wedding. 

She laces her fingers through his and they lean against each other, listening to the others late into the night. 

*

For her name day, he and the children bake a cake. Alex’s whole outfit is covered with flour and Alys’ hair is dusted with it. They insist on him writing the script in icing, even with his shaky left hand. When they present it to her that evening, she laughs in delight and kisses all of them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She presses an extra kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling.” 

[courtlyharlequin]

Hello! Can I request the Octavinelle boys crushing on a great white shark mermaid who is way bigger than them, with a mouth full of long and sharp teeth but is a sweetheart who lives secluded from other merfolk and loves to collection human things and has a treasure trove like the little mermaid and is fascinated by the world above. Pretty please?

Treasures and Truths Untold

A/N: I already have a request in which the reader is a shark so this request became headcanons of the boys with a Little Mermaid-like reader! I hope that’s okay with you. Also, what is a title anymore....

Azul Ashengrotto:

Color him intrigued.

Azul is not that into human culture, but seeing you get all giddy over it piques his interest by a small margin.

In other words, he appreciates it more than he did before meeting you as well as being more observant of the things you fawn over.

Truthfully, he doesn’t understand your little obsession that much. I mean they’re just land creatures aren’t they?

Azul is more into you than he is into humans.

He tries not to be obvious though, keeping it professional like a student-teacher relationship with no foresight as to how it’s going to progress.

And Azul feels like a fool for it.

But when you always rush to him with questions when he returns home for breaks, Azul tries his best to quench your thirst for knowledge.

Your enthusiasm is oddly refreshing for him as it reminds him of his own eagerness to study and do better than all of his childhood bullies… except yours sparkles radiantly while his flickered like a candle in the wind.

He sees it as a sort of deal— you get your answers and he gets to spend time with you and feel good about it.

It’s not ideal… as the relationship is platonic at best but a certain octopus is a bit shy.

Heck, he’s still not over the fact that you approached him so willy-nilly with no ill intentions whatsoever?

Ahhhhh is it love or simply fondness that he latched onto because nobody had ever given him this much attention?

For sure overthinks it but also finds it endearing that someone would go out of their way to ask him about his life in such detail.

Your curious nature would be good for deals keeps Azul on his toes? His tentacles? Ah, he’s having trouble keeping up with you but the catch is sure worth the chase.

Jade Leech:

Oya oya?

You’re of those merfolk who want to go on land that badly?

He doesn't understand the appeal aside (from hiking and mushrooms) but he indulges you if you beg him to take him to your grotto. Is he that special to you?

Ara ara~

Jade definitely doesn’t get it. He thinks people on land are quite troublesome and the transformation was more pain than gain. Azul does seem happier up there than down here, but that doesn’t mean he is.

Jade… finds no greater joy than to swim freely in the ocean. After all, swimming is much easier than flying or even running.

The thrill of a chase in water for prey is much more satisfying than a chase on land. He doesn’t get exhausted. He gets high off that addictive adrenaline.

But you… you’re so docile especially when you’re just as a threat to other fish in the ocean as he is— if not more of a threat.

Seeing you fondle over forks makes him pity you. It’s such a shame that you utilize your physical prowess to wander around shipwrecks to collect kitchen utensils. Kitchen utensils for crying out loud!

Oh, but Jade would never say that to you out loud and in such an impolite tone. He would coax you into a hunt.

If you stood your ground and refused nonetheless, then he would help you clean and organize your treasures albeit he’ll be a little reluctant.

His face shows discomfort and strain but you can’t ever truly tell because he waves it off as being tired and insists that it’s his duty to help you out as a dear old friend.

Ahhhhh. Friend. That word sort of bothers him. Did he really become that attached to you? A little naive fish in the sea who values human culture over mer-culture. How lamentable.

This must be what you call a crush…

Fufufu~ this actually might be some fun, keeping you down in the sea and coming back to you with treasures from land.

A pitiful love, but it could be fun. Go, entertain him!

Floyd Leech:

What’s this? A pile of junk from sunken ships?

Boringggg! But adorable! Very, very adorable~

Floyd can’t turn that cute face of yours down especially when you make those futile puppy eyes at him. They don’t work on him, but he relishes in the fact that you’re begging him to spend time with you, that you deem him close enough to take him to your hidden treasure trove.

The teasing knows no end. Well, you think it’s teasing but it could honestly be a threat…

He doesn’t see how it’s interesting but seeing you jump up and down about music boxes or clothes from land is fun.

After Floyd returns from NRC, he understands you now! Humans and their culture is super interesting! Why didn’t you tell him dancing and running after prey would be this thrilling?

From then on, he joins you on your little excursions to abandoned ships.

Floyd’s personal favorite items to look for are socks and shoes as he finds them fun to sport on land.

He says they’re great and he enjoys dancing on land more than he does in the ocean.

He even teaches you while trying to wear shoes on his tail... which didn’t work out.

There were these two pairs that he wanted bring to land because they looked perfect for a night out at the Mostro Lounge with you.

Granted, the chances of him being able to bring shipwrecked shoes back to school are slim but he entertains the thought nonetheless.

If you clear up an extra space for all of his own finds, he will be touched. Again, you think he would be…

And if you want something in particular, just ask when he’s in the right mood. Most likely, Floyd would bring it back if it means you never stop being entertaining, but you have to remind him because sometimes his moods make him forget about it.

Write and text him often if you can to remind him! There are times where he’ll ignore you but eight out of ten times he won’t.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Dreamcatcher Albino Drider: Levi

Made of Silk

It was the smallest of noises that you heard above you: the groaning of old floorboards, the continuous presence of something that you could never find, always sounding so large yet so minuscule. You could confirm that your great-aunt Fern’s old home was haunted, but you were the person to always be in denial.

She had this place for a long time, it wouldn’t come to anyone’s surprise if your speculations were true, especially in light of her passing. With no other children or relatives that were on her will, the inheritance and house she had lived in for more than 50 years fell into your hands, and you didn’t take a second to pack your bags and move in.

Her home may have been full of dust and full of more antiques than life, but it was the one thing of your family that meant so much to you, especially when you felt so much more like a burden to those you knew, and having this place instead of it being sold or given to another one of your relatives meant so much.

You remember so much to the house with its blue-grey bricks and oddly shaped corridors that were great for running around in, but your attention was always for trying to up to the attic. The attic hiding spots would’ve been perfect in your eyes… if your aunt Fern had allowed you.

You protested and whined, but you were always quick to try and get up there without fail and always never succeeding - being whisked away and told how unkempt it was up there.

There are many things up there, some that you will understand when you’re older, but for now, go seek play in the garden, it is sunny today. She would remind you, and you would naively forget everything for that visit until the next and next one after.

It would be sunny and the rays would warm your back as you played, but you enjoyed the comfort of silence, the lack of light as you want to seek darkness.

Maybe it was the lack of attention you got as a child? You enjoyed your own company the older you got, enjoying times to play with yourself whilst your siblings got your family’s love – your friends chatting around you and never seem to add you to their conversations.

You never cared too much so they noticed, but the one who seemed to notify you and seemingly cared was your great-aunt.

Her illness brought her wits to falter and for her delusions to fester: the kind lady you had known for the majority of your life withered into nothing more than a shell of a human being within months, her passing had been the hardest on you. Which was why you took the offer of owning her home before anyone else could. This place shall be my resting place if it has to be, but it shall be my home like hers.

The smallest of noises brought your attention, but you dismissed them at first to the old house being so rusted with age, life had come and gone and you didn’t surprise that it needed more tender care. Old homes like these keep the warmth even when not much was left, but they stay true and loving no matter what. Aunt Fern kept this place in the best of conditions when she was healthier, and you wanted to get it back to that wonderful state.

Then, things started disappearing. You would go to sleep and wake up to things that had been moved or things that had gone completely. You would turn off your radio to be startled awake with it playing downstairs in your kitchen when you had been certain that you had switched it off at the plug.

For months, you tried ignoring it whilst fixing the house room by room, before it slowed consumed you from the inside out. Where you going insane just like they said about Aunt Fern? The disappearances grew more frequent and you slowly believed that you were forgetting things.

The delusions and denials grew into anger then confusion then slow acceptance, having it eat at you like a storm consuming the land. It hurt to dream, the nights of sleep that didn’t help to silence the growing sounds and things moving and emerging someplace else, but the one thing that didn’t help was that you believed it all.

You would grow insane too like aunt Fern had long ago.

You laid wide awake as you tossed to your side, watching the hours in stages grow further with noises of things around you; creaking floorboards, the wind howling like a rabid dog. It was all-consuming you too quickly now.

“I want to sleep, that is all I ask.” You whispered to the air, not surprised when nothing replied back in a remark or an apology. Instead, you listened, turning a final time as you tried shutting your eyes. “I will not go mad, no matter what you wish for me to do, no matter what you are. An avenging spirit, a trickster – annoying teenagers. Just… just let me sleep for once.”

You screwed your eyes tight for the remainder of the early morning until it was time to get up, and when you did, nothing seemed out the ordinary. No radios playing downstairs, nothing out of place.

You stretched your arms upwards and recoiled when you felt something that had attached itself to your fingers - when you pulled them away, you saw the faint tug of lacework.

A spiderweb, attached to your fingers, and when you connected your eyes, you saw the laced together work of terrifying beauty; the webs connecting into a large dreamcatcher.

The dreamcatchers were crafted day after day, awakening you with the rising dawn and dispelling the unpleasant thoughts and nightmares. It was a relief to you when you could sleep soundlessly or in the best way possible without the worries, yet the nagging part of your mind still knew that it was no coincidence. Something or someone had made it for you; a gift for you plights.    

“If I knew who you were or could see you, I would be thanking you.” You called out to the evening air as you laid in your bed like every other night. The gentle breeze of the wind was calling and dancing around your garden, brushing against the thorn bushes with the trees scratching at your window; nothing but white noise to you by now.

“The dreamcatcher is beautiful, I can tell you that for sure,” you smiled to nothing, in particular, watching your darkened room for any miscellaneous shapes or shadows shifting in movement. “it has helped me greatly.”

You went to bed smiling, knowing when you heard the floorboards creak above you in the attic, your mind settling down to help you rest.

It was only the next few nights when you slept that you were aware that there was someone that was watched you through the shadows of your room: hiding as best as they could in the crooks and corners, apprehensively observing.

You had awoken in the middle of the night, where your eyes turned to look at the mantle above your head; the freshly new and improved dreamcatcher had been crafted so beautifully, larger and delicately made in marvel.

Through the darkness of your room: your bedside cabinet, the wardrobe and en suite bathroom, you could see the glimpse of a moving silhouette shift through the gap of the wardrobe and the back of your door.

You squinted through the abyss of sunken darkness, your voice calling out to them softly and warily. “You can come out, you know. I won’t hurt you.”

The abyss shifted slowly, its outline morphed into less of an amorphous form before it became a more defined figure hiding along the side of your walls. You stretched over your bedside table for the lamp, hearing the figure react with its many feet that seemed to bring itself to dash away, many legs scattering quickly in a hurry, but you had grabbed at the lamp switch, allowing a swarm of light to finally explode through the darkened room.

Your mouth hung open as you gawked at the figure in your room.

The first thing you spotted of him was his stark porcelain skin, the colour of pale milk that glowed even in the dimness of your soft room. 

Through the soft-glowing room, you could spot the many eyes that were guarded by his long pale white locks – four you could count, large and wide a pale lavender-blue colour. They were waiting waveringly for you to make a noise; a scream of bloody murder, to scare him away for good. Your eyes scanned over his body, much smaller compared to what you had expected when he moved across the floorboards in a nervous skitter. 

His ribs stuck out through his supple skin, his body trying to hide his body in the small parts of shrouded darkness, recoiling from your gaze.

His spider half was furry, the eight legs short and crouched, ready to scurry him away if this encounter all went wrong. The contrast between his human skin and spider body blended amazingly – the abdomen was just as fuzzy around his short legs, something that could’ve looked so terrifying to someone but rather adorable to you.

No, you had never seen anything like him before, and the questions were running in your mind. How long had he been living here for? And… had Aunt Fern known of his existence?

“I--- I guess you’ve been living here for some time?”

“Yes,” his voice held the nervousness that made him seem uneasy, “you could say that.

You sat up further in your bed, watching him shift on his many legs. “You’re… you’re-”

“Hideous?” He quavered softly. “I’m sorry that I was making noise. I will leave you alone.”

“No,” You blurted, making his white furry legs stop, tapping individually on the floorboards, tapping like how a human’s leg would bounce with anxiousness. “Please, I’m sorry—you can stay, if you want, you just… you’re beautiful.”

His pale skin flushed noticeably and quickly, trying to hide his embarrassed face as best as he could, which made him look even more adorable. “Have you been here for a while?” You continued.

“For a long time, yes,” he drawled, “but I saw you a lot.”

“Really? How comes I never saw you?”

“I saw you play a lot, and I wanted to join you, but the lady of this house told me it was dangerous, that I should’ve stayed in the attic until everyone had gone.” He stated, rubbing his pale hands together.

Something clicked in your head. Was Aunt Fern hiding him all this time? It may have made sense now, after all those years when you weren’t allowed in areas of the house when you visited. That curiosity could’ve ended badly if you hadn’t respected the boundaries.

“How did you know my great-aunt?” You were drawn to him, his presence – how otherworldly he looked. For a moment, he stepped out a bit further from the shadows, not as nervous as he had been, but still uncertain.

“She looked after me when I was a youngling, keeping me in the attic, but after she passed, I was left alone.” His face fell downcast, holding himself together. You understood his pain, the same you had felt when she had passed away.

Time paused for a moment before you brought her attention once more. “Do you have a name?”

“Levi. She called me Levi.”

Your lips parted and then you closed them thereafter. That name had been something so significant to her when she had once had a son who shared that name. He lived and died a long time ago before you had been born; a babe taken too soon and not given the chance to live.

 Levi loosened and drifted closer until he was hovering by the end of your bed, he found himself once more. “I didn’t know how you would react to the gifts I made. I didn’t want you to go confused – drawn to a spirit that I am.”

“You’re not a spirit, rather someone who I thought was trying to fool me.” You laughed timidly, watching the nervous smile that drifted over his face, smiling toothily and tensely. “But your dreamcatchers helped me so.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they helped me sleep better if I’m honest. I didn’t think much of it at first – where they came from – but I knew someone was looking out for me.”

“You were lonely, and I didn’t want you to be… not like me.” He lamented. “Loneliness is a terrible thing, the death of your glee that never seems to return.”

You felt sympathy and sorry for him, knowing full well that his words were true from his bad experience. Loneliness makes you lost, the harder you try to push it away. “You can stay with me here if you wish. I think my Aunt would’ve liked you to stay.”

He smiled, grateful. “I think she’d be appreciative of you for letting me stay.”

You relaxed into your bed, looking over the time – almost 4. “I only ask of one thing.”

He smiled earnestly. “…Anything for you.”

Your eyes moved to glimpse back over his silk work, catching his eyes. “The dreamcatchers may stay like yourself. They held to get rid of my nightmares.”

 -

I have been going through some things so I apologise if this hasn’t been good, I’m gonna try and train my writer’s block.

-

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[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

kissed by mist and can dew attitude

pairing: harry styles x reader (farmers market au)

warnings: awkwardness!! shy!baker!harry, mentions of the qu*rantine, drug use, harry's chest hair, giggly, sweet high sex, some dirty talk :) unprotected sex

word count: 3.4k

synopsis: harry is an idiot, and y/n is a bit of a tease

author’s note: you can read this for a little background to this au (but it’s not really necessary; i tend to over explain things anyway, so you can get a pretty good understanding just from this) literally no one asked for this, but market season is coming up again, and i missed writing about these two :( hope you enjoy! xx

masterlist

—

Harry is so tired of being cooped up in this house.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves staying home.

He is normally the introvert that puts all other introverts to shame. He loves staying at home, he loves hiding away after a stressful day at work, he goes out of his way to not talk to anyone while he’s out, and he very rarely ever goes out on the weekends. He loves just being able to stay at home, relax, and not worry about anyone bothering him.

But, at a certain point, it becomes too much; now, he just wants to get out, go for a walk, go to the grocery store, talk to someone other than Y/N, just do something, anything, other than staying at home. Yes, it’s for a good reason, and he doesn’t want to be responsible for the illness spreading, but it’s also straining on his mental, physical, and financial health.

He honestly wants to go back to work.

Since this entire situation started, Harry has only had a couple of shifts at The Sweet Spot, since, apparently, cafes are “essential businesses”, but the nutrition store next door isn’t (the world definitely has their priorities straight). Honestly, it was kind of nice; he didn’t have to schmooze any customers, since he only saw the delivery drivers. There was the occasional ignorant person who would come up to the doors and pull on them, despite the very clear signs saying that they were not open to the public, only to find them locked, and Harry very happily told them to go away.

However, Marty couldn’t afford to have him take up any more shifts, which he completely understands, so he’s been stuck home for weeks.

Needless to say, both he and Y/N have been getting a little stir crazy.

They tried to keep a somewhat healthy lifestyle in the beginning, hiking the nearby trails or walking at the park, but everything started to become too crowded. They even went cycling, but Harry proved to be even more of a klutz on a bike than on his own two feet, resulting in a bump on his head and a scraped elbow, which is still healing beneath a floral printed plaster.

Y/N’s had some failed experiments, leading to several four-hour kitchen clean-ups, and she also started a “Fermentation Station”, with dozens of glass jars filled with fermenting fruits and teas, the smell of yeast strong in the air. She was so proud of herself the first time she made carbonated water from things they already had in the house (“Look, Harry, it’s so convenient”). She ended up adding more and more things to her collection. They argued about it for a couple of days before she finally settled and moved her jars to the back porch after the kitchen started smelling like alcohol.

While Y/N has her experiments, Harry stress-bakes. He can’t even count how many loaves of bread, fruit pastries, cookies, and cakes he has made. He made crepes using sourdough starter. That’s how bored he’s been. He waited five whole days for his starter to mature, just to make four crepes between himself and Y/N.

But, there’s only so many things to do before you’ve completely run out of ideas.

On this particularly boring day, it’s two in the afternoon before they finally get out of bed, no thanks to their terrible sleep schedules, and they move onto the couch, which is officially broken in after how many hours they’ve spent on it. It’s sunny outside, bright and warm, the bright light beaming through the large bay windows in the living room, making staying inside even worse.

Y/N convinces him to paint his fingernails (and not just his toenails), and he happily indulges her. It’s nice feeling pampered for once, and whenever Y/N gets into her let’s-have-a-spa-day moods, she goes all out. While his toenails, painted with a pretty green color called Can Dew Attitude and a shimmery top coat on them, dried, she put some all-natural mud mask on his face, that bubbled and seeped into his skin.

“This is great for your pores,” she says as she puts a lukewarm cloth on his mask. “Not that you have bad skin. It’s better than mine, you ass.”

He just smiles, feeling the clay crack, and leans into her touch. She’s gentle, waiting until most of it is soft and pliable before she wipes it away. As she dries his face, with a towelette that smells like lavender and honey, his freshened skin, flushed and smooth, glows in the afternoon sun, his pretty eyes magnified behind a pair of thick, black framed glasses. Y/N sits across from him, her leg tucked up underneath her with his hand steady on her knee.

“It’s not gonna, like,” he pauses, glancing warily at his nails, “poison you or anything, right?”

“What?” She laughs, putting an oil around his cuticles. He leans forward, watching her carefully. He readjusts the headband, inadvertently pushing it back a little too far, until some curls slip onto his forehead. She hits the bottle of Kissed by Mist against her palm, the pale pink polish making a nice ticking sound. She starts on his nails, but not before making a comment about how cute his little pinkie is, which makes him flustered.

“It’s not gonna poison you when I, ya know, like… when I…”

He motions with his free hand, grouping his ring and middle fingers together and curling them, and he bites on his cheek, brows furrowed, trying to see any changes in her expression. He stops and shakes his head, a frail blush creeping up to his ears.

“By the way you’re reacting, ‘m assuming it’s not a thing,” he sighs.

“No, the polish will not poison me when you finger—“

“Shh,” he hushes her, pressing his hand against her lips. She pushes him away.

“Harry, we are the only ones here,” she says, finishing his right hand.

“Ya know what that mouth does to me,” he mutters.

“Really? You get turned on when I say, ‘finger me’?”

“Ya know I do,” he pouts, grappling for her. His hands twist the thick cotton of her jumper for only a second before she’s scooting away, swatting at him.

“No, H, your nails are still wet,” she says, and he groans, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“So bored.”

“Everyone is,” she says, filing down his left thumb nail.

“Wanna get high?”

He just wants to stop this feeling of absolute boredom. It’s better since Y/N is here with him, but it’s getting to a certain point where he’s willing to do just about anything to feel, well, anything.

One night, they tried her “prison wine”, which was just cranberry cocktail and yeast that fermented for a couple of days; it tasted worse than it sounds. It did, however, get them very drunk, and they woke up the next morning with pounding headaches, upset stomach, and purple stained lips. It was honestly the worst hangover he’s ever had, and he vowed to never try it again.

Getting stoned has then become a regular thing. On those horribly boring nights where they had absolutely nothing to do, where they’ve both been on the couch for hours, not being able to find the willpower to move, and on those nights where they just wanted to feel and simply be elsewhere, they found solace in the warming daze.

She grins.

“Sure, I think we still have some gummies,” she says, moving toward their “special” drawer in the side table.

“Only a half this time, lovie,” he says as she turns back, and she rolls her eyes.

“They were a lot stronger than the other ones,” she says, ripping the poorly stuck tape from the plastic packaging.

“I know,” he smiles, popping the candy in his mouth. She sits back down beside him, her leg thrown over his lap. He moves his hand dangerously close to her inner thigh, his fingers dancing along the length of her thigh until they reach the hem of her panties, tugging at the material until it snaps back. He’s so close to feeling her warmth, if only he moves just a little further, but she yanks his hand back, puts it on her knee, and gives him a smug little smile, continuing her work.

It takes an hour, or two more coats of nail polish, for the edibles to kick in, but when they do, Harry thinks he pissed himself. Forgetting about Y/N’s leg across his lap, he mistakes her warmth as pee, and he jerks up, jolting her. She looks up at him, blinking. There’s a strip of white polish on the side of his thumb.

“You are so good at this,” he says slowly. He honestly couldn’t imagine painting such tiny details if he were sober; he doesn’t know how she’s doing it stoned. She’s swaying and blinking slowly, but she looks focused, her brows furrowed.

“You’re good at this,” she mumbles.

“What?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s easy if I can concentrate.” Her eyes flicker up to his, a smirk curled over her lips.

“‘M I distracting you?” He raises a brow.

“I can feel your cock,” she says.

“Please, don’t say cock while you’re touching my cock,” he says, readjusting his growing bulge. She just chuckles and moves her foot along his boxers, where his semi and the top of his thighs connect. His hips twitch.

She barely caps the nail polish before she tosses it to the side and straddles him. He cups her hips, the fact that his nails are still wet long gone from both of their minds. She holds him by the neck, tilting his head back. Before she can capture his lips, he hesitates, his hands tracing along her thighs.

“Are you sure?”

Even though they’re practically living together at this point and have had sex plenty of times, he can’t help but ask her that same question every time. He’s never been one to feel secure in himself, and to have someone who is so open and willing to trust him, it’s overwhelming and intimidating sometimes.

“Of course, H,” she says, nibbling at his bottom lip, and then, he kisses her, fully and profoundly. He could just melt into her, his senses consumed by her warmth and love. He wouldn’t go as far as saying that the sex is better than when they’re sober. It’s great all the time, but there’s something about being high, with his skin buzzing and all of his senses heightened yet dulled at the same time, that makes the experience different. It’s different because he’s not worried about what he’s doing and saying; he’s focusing on the feeling, all of the sensations and simply her.

She tries to pull his shirt over his head, but it gets caught on the chain around his neck, and she tugs a little too hard, yanking it tightly around his throat.

“Easy, Y/N,” he laughs, holding onto her wrists. “I know you’re eager to get me naked, but I think you forget that I am also precious cargo.” Her lips sink into a pout, and he’s able to get the shirt off, throwing it off to the side, his headband going with it.

“You are precious,” she says, squishing his cheeks together. She cups the back of his neck and pecks his lips, gentle and loving. “Love these little baby hairs,” she says, running her hand over his skin, teasing and tugging on his chest hairs.

“They’re not baby hairs,” he says, pouting. He teases his hands along her hips, nails digging into her fleshy skin. “I am a man.”

“Oh, I know,” she chuckles, feeling his hips jerk up, pressing his swelling bulge into her. He wraps his arms around her waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of her back, and nestles his face into her chest. She shifts further up on his lap, fingers carding through his soft hair. Being far too lazy to take it off, he sucks on her breasts through her worn tee, her nipples hardening in his teeth. She pushes his boxers down and readjusts herself over him, rubbing her clothed pussy along his pulsing cock. She tugs her panties to the side, and he moans at the sudden warmth, her arousal coating him.

“You like that?” She asks breathily, rocking her hips faster. “Like feeling me drip onto your cock?”

“What if I just—” She teases the head of his cock, just barely pushing him inside before she pulls out. He can barely make a sound, his throat tightening when

“You like it when I tease your cock? Can feel you throbbing.” Her eyes roll back at the burning feeling of him just breaking past the barrier of her tightness. “So needy for me, bubba.”

“Such a dirty mouth,” he moans.

“Tell me, babe.” She holds him by the jaw, the pads of her fingers pressing perfectly into his pressure points, and he struggles for breath, making his head even lighter and obscured. He grins. “Tell me how much you love my pussy,” she says as she sinks fully onto him, her walls swallowing him easily.

“Fuck,” he moans, long and drawn out. His head falls onto the couch cushions, eyes closing to savor the feeling of her gripping him, but she pulls him back, forcing him to keep eye contact. “I love it; love you more, though,” he says.

“Say it,” she coos.

He blushes, heat spreading from his chest to the tip of his ears. He has never been vocal when it comes to sex; he always gets flustered and anxious when having a normal conversation, so he couldn’t even imagine how how awkward he would be while trying to talk dirty. It’s even more difficult because of how much she’s teasing him, slow and languid movements up and down his cock, his head just barely inside her before she comes back down, her hips grinding against his. She has this look in her hooded eyes, a lustful and greedy look, that’s telling him to give in to his instincts.

“Love y-your pussy, baby,” he moans.

“Yeah?” She starts riding him faster, her walls milking him. He groans. “Tell me how it feels, H.” She smirks, like an actual full blown, teasing smirk; she knows exactly how good she’s making him feel. She likes seeing him so flustered and babbly and incoherent.

“So fucking good, so warm and wet, perfect for me, lovie,” he says, and she grins, teeth bared. She kisses him, messily and harshly. His arms wrap tightly around her waist, stilling her hips, and a hand travels up the length of her spine, beginning at the curve of her bum, dipping momentarily beneath her large tee, before moving up to the back of her neck, pressing her lips tighter to his. He cradles her head while he moves onto the floor, but it’s not nearly as graceful as he hoped it would be. They crash to the ground.

“Oh, god,” she squeals, and her walls squeeze him painfully tight. Her nails dig into his back.

“Wha’s wrong?” He wipes the sweat from his forehead, fingers raking through his hair.

“No, no,” she stutters, hands moving onto the swell of his ass, keeping him still. “You’re so deep.”

He swears his arms are going to give out at the sound of her sweet little whisper, her voice weak and broken.

“H-how deep?”

He can’t help the break in his voice, and embarrassment floods him. He’s honestly trying his hardest to sound sexy, but he just sounds like an idiot.

“As deep as the ocean,” she mumbles, and she looks so positively fucked, out of it and dazed with hooded eyes; he honestly doesn't even think she realizes what she said because when he starts laughing, she gives him the cutest look, her brows furrowed, lips curled. “What?”

“Congrats,” he says, leaning back and onto his knees, his arms curled under her thighs, knees hooked over his arms. “You almost just made me go soft. Never done that before.”

“Shut up,” she says, grinding her hips into him. His thrusts start slow, deliberate, but the more she reacts to him, the more she bucks and grinds, the faster they become, until he can’t anymore, driving his cock in with fast, precise thrusts.

“You look so good like this,” he says, groping her breasts over her tee, nipples swollen and hard. They move with every thrust of his hips.

“Thanks, it’s the shirt,” she says breathily, a weak smile on her lips. “It covers up all my ugly parts.”

“Tha’s not what I meant,” he says, frowning. He leans over her, hands on either side of her head, and she lets out a weak moan as his cock moves deeper inside her. “Look beautiful all the time.” He genuinely looks sad as he brushes away a bead of sweat from her forehead. “You don’ have to take your shirt off when we have sex, not if you don’ want to. I take it off normally because I thought it would be more comfortable for you, and, le’s be honest, your tits are amazing, and I love seeing your curves and your—”

She suddenly pulls him in for a kiss, ceasing his ramblings. He’s cute when he gets all nervous; despite the fact he’s balls deep inside her, he’s still a worrier. It’s sweet that he’s concerned about how she’s feeling, even though he’s not fully present, with red cheeks and hooded eyes, chest heaving for breath. She raises her hips, grinding up into him, her swollen clit just barely grazing against his abdomen. She clenches around him at the sharp, sudden burst of pleasure.

She raises her feet from the floor, and he presses her knees to her chest. The sound of him fucking himself into her wet cunt fills the air, obscenities and pleasured whimpers joining. Not having the energy to kiss fully, he traces his lips along the curve of her jaw, tender and messy. His thrusts become sharper and deeper, knocking the breath from her lungs with every move of his hips.

“Oh, god, ‘m so fucking wet.” She laughs, feeling through her soaked curls to her throbbing clit. She really is; her arousal drips onto their thighs and into the carpet. Her head spins, burning pleasure building as he grinds into her and spreads her legs further apart.

“Fuckin’ hell—” He whines as she tightens around him, her fingers rubbing her little clit raw.

“‘M gonna come,” she moans, tugging at his hair. “C’mon, baby,” she coos, “want you to—” She swallows thickly, her breathing shallow. Her eyes roll back as she pinches her poor swollen clit, her thighs trembling. She meets his thrusts, eager for her impending orgasm. “Want you to come in me, wanna feel your cum in my—”

She lets out one loud moan, her body trembling and shuddering beneath him as pleasure rushes through her, leaving her limbs tingling and her mind muddled. They bask in the afterglow, their breaths in sync and deep, and he slumps onto her, wrapping his arms around her, tracing his hands over any piece of skin he can. He just wants to savor this feeling, the closeness, the warmth, the tenderness.

Her hand suddenly fishes over to the caramels that Harry made a couple days ago, which have been taunting her in a faux-crystal bowl on the coffee table for the past couple of minutes. The make-shift wax paper wrapper crinkles, and the sound makes him look up, his eyes still hooded, movements languid with exhaustion. He opens his mouth sleepily, and she rips the caramel in half. They both moan at the same time at the taste and fall into a fit of giggles. He moves to his side, his chest pressed to her back, softening cock pressed to the curve of her bum.

“Sorry,” he says, “messed up your art.” He flashes his nails, the pink paint still soft and pliable, littered with nicks and dents and imprints from the couch cushions. She hooks her fingers through his and tugs his hand down to her lips.

“Worth it.”

—