#it was my first time at a ballet and the seats were very cheap and bad but it was amazing

[eideticmemory]

EVER SINCE NEW YORK II | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic.

PART 2! Read Part 1 here.

Soundtrack:

Maps - Maroon 5.

Me & Ur Ghost - Blackbear.

Keep You Close - Frenship.

Word Count: 3,341.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, substance use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Sophomore Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City. 

“Okay, you know what?” You scoffed, throwing your hands up in surrender. “I give up. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Claire laughed from behind you, “You alright over there?”

“No,” you grumbled. You pressed down on the black frame, using all your might to make the command strip stick to the wall. Yet, when you stepped back, it would pop off of the surface, and your ballet poster was lopsided. It’d been a vicious cycle for 10 minutes. “This goddamn command strip won’t stick. What the fuck?” 

“Okay, grumpy, step away from the poster,” Claire ordered, grabbing onto your shoulders and escorting you to the center of the room. “The room looks great, [y/n], why are you so stressed?” 

“I am not stressed. I am frustrated, and those damn command strips aren’t cheap. I’m pissed.” 

“Okay, staples queen, tell you what,” she sighed. “I will go buy you a pack of command strips and personally mount the poster myself, okay?” 

You looked up at Claire, giving her a soft smile. “Did I win the roommate lottery or what?”

“Yeah, but better not say stuff like that too much. People are gonna start thinking we’re a different type of roommates.”

You laughed, and shook your head at her. 

“[y/n], what’s up?” Claire asked. “You’ve been moody as fuck ever since we moved back in for the semester. Classes haven’t even started yet and you’re moping around. What’s going on?”

Well, Claire, you thought. I’m glad you asked. I’m glad you brought it up, because I’ve been dying to talk about it for a while. You see, I fucked my mortal enemy, and it was so good that I did it a second time. And no, I’m not talking about my cinematography professor, I’m talking about Matthew. Gubler. I fucked Matthew Gubler. Yes, I know. Hell has frozen over. Because I hated him. I hate him. I think he’s awful. Especially since he thinks it’s okay to fuck someone, ignore their existence, fuck them again, ignore their existence, and then leave them with a vague ass note? 505. 505! I’ve looked up every possible meaning of 505 that there is. The song, urban dictionary, numerology. And I can’t figure the shit out. And it doesn’t help that Matthew didn’t say a word to me over summer break. I’m just lost and confused and I know you would understand and you would know what to do. 

But it’s Matthew. 

And I can’t tell anyone. Especially you. 

“Last semester was a royal disaster,” you sighed. “I just don’t wanna overwhelm myself again. Y’know with class, and shows, and parties. I wanna do right this semester, but it’s a little stressful. So, I’m a little stressed.” 

Claire looked at you for a long time, eyebrows lowered and her eyes scanning your face. She had a gut feeling that you were lying, but didn’t wanna be a bitch. So she bit her tongue. 

“Let’s go get something to eat,” she smiled. 

Classes started that following Monday. Your first lecture was at 10 o’clock. And you woke up at 10:15. Having showered the night before, you brushed your teeth, put on your outfit and fixed your hair all in ten minutes and hiked it across campus in 4 minutes. You rushed up to the classroom door, and entered the lecture very calmly. People were scattered about in the auditorium, some towards the sides, a lot front and center. But only one person sitting in the very back row.

Matthew. 

Too occupied with explaining yourself to your professor, you didn’t notice Matthew until a few minutes after entering. You refused to make eye contact with him, nervously staring at your feet as you walked over to him. And took a seat at his side. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Those were the only words spoken for an hour and fifteen minutes. However, within 10 minutes of seeing you again, Matthew began to rub your thigh. His fingers grazed the top of your leg, slowly but surely making their way to your inner thigh. You held your breath, staring up at the professor the whole time and pretending to take notes. 

When Matthew’s fingers pressed against your clit, you almost gasped. But you kept your mouth shut, stifling the sound. He smirked to himself, only glancing at you when you were too shaken up to notice. You propped up the screen of your laptop, hiding your face behind it so you could let out quiet moans. You were so sensitive, and very glad that you wore a skirt to class. 

Matthew’s fingers slid your panties to the side and made skin to skin contact with your clit, applying pressure as he rubbed you. You exhaled for a long time, swear words wanting to fly out of your mouth instead. The professor’s words drowned out a long time ago, and at this point you didn’t care. You just needed to come. 

Matthew remembered the way you liked to be touched, he had to. Because he was able to bring you to the edge so quickly, it was insane. You clenched your thighs around his wrist to signal your nearing release, and he grinned. 

You rested your head on the keyboard of your laptop, hiding from everyone as you came. Your jaw dropped, and you had to stop yourself from groaning too loudly. Matthew removed his hand from under your skirt. He sucked on the tips of his fingers, just to get the taste of you on his tongue. Then, with only 2 minutes left in class, he packed up his stuff and walked out.

You should’ve dropped the class. At the very least, sat somewhere else. But you didn’t. You stayed in that course. With Matthew. In the back row. And wore skirts every other day for a month. Some days he would repeat the action, and some days he wouldn’t. It was like he could tell how desperate you were each time. And if you were really desperate, he simply didn’t touch you. It sucked, but it kept you on your toes. 

He missed class one day, and to cope, you had a dream about him that night. You imagined him using his mouth on you, in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the desk, making you come. When you woke up, you were in a cold sweat. You couldn’t believe you were having thoughts like this about Matthew Gubler. But you were. 

You hopped out of bed, put on your slippers, and left the room to go to the vending machines. Holding a soda and some candy, you walked back to your dorm room silently. Alerted by the sound of footsteps, you turned your head down the hall to see Claire walking out of someone’s room. She noticed you and rushed up to you with a big smile. 

“Hey!” She beamed. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, uh, I couldn’t sleep. Where you been?”

She sighed happily, “I’ve been doing adult things, [y/n], I cannot lie.” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder as you both walked to your room. “I’m in love, kid. It’s crazy.”

“You’re in love? With who?”

“Ah, that will soon be revealed, my dear [y/n].” 

That weekend, you two invited everyone to come hang out at your dorm. Someone was able to swipe some liquor, and it was a party. A handful of people, getting a little tipsy, music in the background. Claire insisted Matthew be invited, but you weren’t expecting him to show up. But of course, he did. Because he’s a nuisance. 

He laid down on Claire’s bed and she sat beside him, the two of them quickly joining the conversation at hand. You tried not to look like a kicked puppy, tried not to pout, to sulk, to watch. But inch by inch, second by second, Claire moved closer to Matthew, until by the end of the night, her head was on his chest. 

That Monday, you sat in the front of the class. 

And every class after that for the next month. 

Missing your daily release, you became cranky and nasty and moody. You didn’t mean to, but that’s how it happened. To help you get over the nagging feeling, you went out one Saturday night. A group of friends dragged you along to a dorm party in the next building over. You used it as an excuse to dress up, ignore your homework and get some fresh air. In a tight purple dress, you walked into the booming dorm. It was packed, smelled like booze and filled with heat. 

A cup of vodka in your hand, it wasn’t until about two hours in that you realized you didn’t want to party. You sat on the couch the whole time, fiddling with your hands and the hem of your dress. You’d drank an entire solo cup of alcohol by then, and you were starting to get tired. Your friends had gotten lost a long time ago, and you knew it was fruitless to look for them. So, you picked yourself up and started to head for the exit. 

“[y/n]!” 

You turned around to see a guy walking towards you. Jonathan. “Hey, John, what the hell is going on?” You asked, noticing him supporting another guy on his shoulder. His friend was a drunken, sloppy mess, and could barely stand.

“Our boy Steve here had a little too much to drink,” John replied. “I’m taking him back to his room. You going back to your place?”

You nodded, “Yeah. I am.”

“Okay, do you mind helping me with him? Please? I’ll give you a dollar.”

You laughed, shook your head and put your arm around Steve’s waist. “Ooh, a dollar! Sounds exciting.” 

It was cold, and you shivered on the way back to your dorm building. Steve only lived down the hall from you, so helping wasn’t too far out of the way for you. John used Steve’s key to let the three of you into Steve’s suite, guiding both of you to Steve’s room. 

You both worked together to lay Steve down on his mattress. You covered him with his blanket. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” John told you. “We both are actually.”

“Maybe we should start a business. We escort drunk people home for a small fee of $100.”

He laughed, “I’m in as long as you dress like that every time.”

You blushed, and ducked your head down to hide it. 

“What’s going on in here?” A voice called to you two. 

You looked up at the threshold to see Matthew standing there, looking sleepy, disheveled, shirtless, and beautiful. 

“Hey, Gube,” John greeted. “[y/n] and I were just dropping Steve off. Kid couldn’t  hold his liquor.” 

Matthew scoffed, “You could’ve left him there. Let him get dicks drawn on his face.”

“Well, aren’t you full of love?” John laughed. “No, seriously, I’ve gotta text Lindsey and let her know I’m staying in for tonight.” He padded at his pocket, followed by a loud groan, “Fuck, I left my phone at the party. Fuck me.” 

“That’s a higher power trying to tell you that you need to stay out longer,” Matthew said. 

John smirked at him, “You’re right. Wonderful insight, Gubler.”

John walked out of the door, heading for the exit, and you followed him, avoiding eye contact with Matthew. As the two of you approached the front door, you froze. John exited the suite, not noticing that he was leaving you behind. And you would’ve moved if you had the power. 

Hanging on the door of the suite was the room number: 505.

Your breath caught in your throat. 505. The room number. The room number of the suite you saw Claire leaving that day. 505.

“What took you so long?” Matthew asked, standing behind you. 

You released your breath, goosebumps crawling on your skin as you felt him get closer to you. Your heart raced, your body trembled. You had a physical response to being near this boy. It was intense. 

“I’m not doing this, Matthew,” you whispered. 

“Doing what? We’re just talking.”

You turned around to face him, suddenly very angry, “No! You know what I’m talking about! You know what I’m talking about! And it’s gone on for long enough, Matthew. I’m out!” You kept your voice quiet, but still aggressive. You turned to exit the dorm, but he grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into him. 

“Listen, Princess Peach,” he said.

“Fuck you—“

“Listen. I don’t know what your deal is, but I do know that I miss you—“

“You’re full of shit. You just wanna fuck.”

“That’s what I said. I miss you. I mean, for such a short person, your pussy packs a punch.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Face it,” he murmured. “You may hate me, but your pussy doesn’t.”

Your body melted into his at the sound of his voice. The feeling of his hands running down your body, landing on your thigh. “Just admit it. Or tell me to stop.” His fingers trailed under your dress, the tips grazing you through your panties. Your head rolled back at the gentle touch and he took that as an invitation to kiss your neck. 

“Cmon, shortcake, tell me to stop,” he mumbled. “Tell me to stop.” 

You responded by wrapping your hands around his throat, using all your strength to push him out the living room couch. He chuckled under his breath, stumbling back onto the cushion and pulling you into his lap. 

“Oh, you gonna choke me?” He asked, his voice coming out strained. “Okay, princess, you hate me so much? You can’t stand me?” He pushed his pants down to reveal his erection. “Fuck me like it then.” 

You crashed your lips onto his and pushed him back onto the couch, reaching down to grab his cock. You pulled your panties to the side and teased him against your core, moaning as his tip rubbed against your clit. You sank down onto his dick, feet pressed into the couch, hands holding his neck. 

He stared up at you as you fucked him — fast and careless. Swear words fell off of his lips uncontrollably, his hands pawing at your breast. Your boobs fit perfectly in his palm and he was obsessed. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stay quiet, grunting into his mouth. 

“F-fuck,” he panted. “Wait, wait.” 

You leaned in and kissed him roughly, grinding your hips against his. You made sure to stay silent, giving no indication that you were experiencing so much pleasure. 

“H-hey — shit, fuck,” he groaned. “Wait.”

Matthew placed his hands on your ass, his eyes closed tight, his body tensing up as you rode him into the wall. “Oh, fuck!” He exclaimed, and lifted you off of his cock. Quickly, just in time for him to release all over his stomach. He panted, he quivered, he mumbled soft, dirty words. Whispered something about you. 

As pretty a sight as it was, you refused to sit there and stare. So, you stood up, pulled the hem of your dress down. And this time, you left. Not a word said. Nothing. 

Matthew followed you on instagram that night. You didn’t accept the request for a week, and when you did, you didn’t follow him back. He tried to add you on snapchat, but you declined it. You continued to sit far away from him in class, giving him no access. He brought you a drink at a party once and you asked for water instead. When he returned with the water, you had already left. 

He had met his match. You dominated him, successfully, fearlessly, and without even trying. He wanted more. But you liked to watch him so squirm, so you didn’t give in. 

Christmas break rolled around, and instead of focusing on the actual holiday, you and your friends planned your first spring break vacation. A group of you would head to South Beach for the week, and stay at a relative’s beach house. 

You sat on your bed, trying to map out the cost of the trip. “So it’s me, you, the four of them...Claire, are you listening to me?”

“Is this a good Christmas gift for Matthew?” 

You turned your head to her quickly, “Huh?” 

“This,” she held up the book - The Magic Encyclopedia. “You think Matthew will like it?”

“Claire,” you sighed. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?”

“What are you doing simping over this boy? Buying him gifts? This isn’t you, Claire.”

“Leave me alone, [y/n], okay? We’re just friends. And he told me he bought me a gift so I got him one. Jeez, do you have to hate him so much?” She pouted, dropping the book into a gift bag. 

“Um, actually, yeah I do,” you nodded. “He’s a dick.”

A knock rang at the door, and as Claire hopped up, she pointed her finger at you, “That’s him. Do not pick a fight.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to planning. Matthew stepped into the room, carrying a bag in one hand. He used his other hand to cup Claire’s face and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “Santa Claus is here!” He exclaimed. 

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Claire pleaded, reaching for the gift bag. 

“Wow, Claire, I’m hurt. You’re so materialistic.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, please, Gube,” she scoffed. “Give me my gift.”

“Okay,” he reached into the bag and pulled out a small box, wrapped into festive paper. “I got this for you, Claire,” he handed her the box. “And I even got something for your roommate here.”

You picked your head up, face ridden with confusion. Matthew licked his lips as he held the gift out to you, “I saw it and I couldn’t help myself. Merry Christmas, short stack.” 

“Aw, Gube!” Claire squealed. Matthew let her tuck herself under his arm and hug him. “You’re so sweet.”

You stared at the tiny box in your hands, feeling it’s weight. “Thanks...” you whispered.

“Here, open what I got you,” Claired ordered Matthew, stepping over to her bed and grabbing the gift bag. She handed it to him with a wide smile, and giggled as he reached inside. 

“Wow!” He cheered, holding the book in his hand. “Holy shit, Claire. This is incredible, thank you!”

“I knew how much you wanted that book so I remembered to get it,” she said. “So, I hope your gift for me is as impressive.”

“It is.”

As the two of them spoke, you opened up your own gift, quietly, hiding it behind your pillow. Claire unwrapped Matthew’s gift, and squealed. “Shut up! Where did you find this film?”

“Amazon!” he replied. “That fancy camera of yours only takes a certain type of film so I wanted you to be stocked.”

You pulled the item out of the box, focused on figuring out what it was. It was cold, metallic, and shone under the light as it was revealed. 

“Oh, Gube!” Claire pulled him into a hug. “This is incredible!”

It was an antique. A silver polished miniature  ballerina, perched on a pedestal. There was a knob on the side, and when turned, the ballerina twirled. It was precious. 

You looked over at Matthew and Claire, watching as they broke out of their hug and looked at each other. “I expect a bunch of pictures when I get back,” he told her, backing out of the room. 

“And I expect a professional magician,” she winked. Yuck. Claire turned her head to you after Matthew left, grinning, “What’d he get you?” 

You quickly pushed the ballerina back in the box, shaking your head. “Socks. Mismatched socks. Very funny.” You replied. 

She giggled, “But hey, a gift! That’s growth!”

“Yeah, whatever,” you grumbled. 

“Matthew’s great,” She said. “You’ll get to know him better soon, since he’s coming to the beach with us.”

“He’s what?”

[PART 3.]

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 25

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary:  Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

The smell hit you square in the face before you marched in. The delicious combination of roasted meat, seasonings, spices, and old man's sweat combined with the hunger rolling in your stomach made you drool. 

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Loki frowned, inspecting the crowded interior, which would be easy if there were enough working light bulbs. 

"Of course! Can't you smell it?" 

Loki, in fact, could smell a lot, but that didn't mean he was happy about it.

You grabbed his arm and dragged him to the old man leaning over the counter. The magazine in front of him looked ancient and stained, the pages dogeared as if it was passed from one generation to another. The man didn't raise his eyes. 

You pointed to the equally stained menu hanging next to him. "So, what do you want?" you asked, as if the names told Loki anything. 

"What is that?" 

"Meat." 

"And that?" 

"Spicy meat." 

"And those?" 

"Absolutely devastatingly delicious meat with a bit of—" 

"I think I’ve got the hang of it. I'll take this one." 

"And I'll take the usual for me and the kid!" you added to the man behind the counter. The heavy scent of cheap cigarettes and cheaper manners parted for a moment when he nodded without a word and moved to the back. 

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Is that normal?"

You maneuvered him through the thicket of plastic tables and chairs. "Of course, he's a real sweetheart! He always gives me some extra toppings for free. We've known each other for like 5 years, and I think he can read my thoughts by now." 

"And what's his name?" 

"I have no idea, I've never heard him speak." 

You chose the booth by the windows. There were only a few people in the room, and no one gave you a second glance when you passed them. Loki had no idea what had made him think he'd for once eat some quality food. 

At least the seats seemed to be clean, and the booth gave you the faintest illusion of some privacy, which Loki was thankful for. He looked at his reflection in the glass and ran his hand over his features again. The wet, sticky feeling of foreign magic didn't leave him. The window showed him his own familiar features, staring with defiance and anger in his eyes. The spell must've been working, though, for no one on the streets recognized him so far. 

"Still angry?" you asked with your elbows on the table. 

"Once I get my powers back, I'll show that pathetic excuse of a sorcerer what true magic looks like—" 

His promises were cut short by a boy rushing into the bar, his hair in disarray, and was clearly looking for someone. You waved and gestured for him to take the order that was just finished. 

"Hey, guys, sorry I'm late." Peter slid into the seat on the other side of the table, still out of breath. "My class had to take care of organization of the projects for the science fair and I volunteered to—”

The boy continued to spit words breathlessly, and Loki listened to him only partly. The tray the boy brought with him absorbed most of his focus. Two of the three dishes on it were quickly distributed between Peter and you, which left Loki no choice but to suspect the third was meant for him. 

"If I die," he said, reaching for the plate. "I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your miserable lives and then make your afterlives hell." 

Peter sighed with pure love in his eyes. "I'd love to be haunted by you, Mr Mischief sir!"

"Don't speak with your mouth full." 

"I'm sorry, Mr Mischief sir!" 

Loki sighed. Stabbing the dish with his fork did not ease his frustration, which was very disappointing. 

The first few bites he took, encouraged with a suspicious amount of support, were not the worst. It was difficult to feel the original flavor because of the amount of seasoning, but overall Loki had to admit the nameless chef knew what he was doing. 

"He likes it," you cheered to an equally happy Peter. The boy's plate was almost empty already. "So, now that we've secured ourselves a peaceful afterlives, tell me about that science fair. Have you finally finished your project?" 

"I have a lot on my shoulders right now," Peter said. "Especially since I agreed to help with the organization of it all, and the logistics create one problem after another. I spent last night working on—" 

A knowing smile raised your lips. You nudged Loki. "I bet he only agreed to help because MJ asked him to." 

"Who's MJ?" Loki frowned, slicing the food with surgical precision. 

"Peter's girlfriend." 

"She's not my—We don't—..." 

Loki nodded, assessing the boy with piercing green eyes. Peter slid down his seat, hiding his bright red face under his suddenly sweaty hand.

You leaned over the table and patted his arm while Loki continued with his food. "She seems really cool. And I like her temper." 

Peter cleared his throat. "I… really appreciate that, but can we not talk about it for a second?" 

"Sure. So, what's been going on, other than you struggling with the project's deadline, making ends meet with the fair, and not thinking about MJ?" 

"Well, I…" Peter looked around the place, and made sure no one was close before leaning closer, in a totally not suspicious way. "I have been hanging around the neighborhood, you know, in the suit, like I always do, and I've heard about some very nasty business going on there lately." 

"What kind of business? Someone replacing people's potted flowers with other flowers?" 

Loki stopped chewing. "What kind of person would do that?" 

"I did, when I was nine and on my way to ballet class. I wanted them to see the world, meet new people..." 

Loki looked at you without a word for a very long moment. Then he turned his attention back to the boy. "What kind of business?" 

"Well, I don't really know yet. But I'm working on it! The thing is, I hang around a lot, and meet a lot of people, and there's this one lovely old Romanian lady that always makes me sandwiches and never asks why I swoop by her balcony in the suit in the middle of the night, and she's really cool, but lonely, and that's why she sits on that balcony all the time. She's old, but she still has a very good sight, which is why she's noticed that there were so many dangerous-looking people around lately, and cars that look exactly like in those movies about organized crime and they haven’t started any trouble yet, but she doesn't feel safe. So, she told me about this and I've been looking into it for the past couple of nights, and I definitely have a lead, but I don't really have time for it at the moment."

You picked food from your teeth. Loki tried not to see it. 

"So, you don't know shit," you rephrased Peter's monologue. 

"It's not like that, I know sh—stuff! I just… have yet to investigate it properly…" 

"And you don't have time for that, which you've already unsubtly hinted more than twice." 

A blush creeped back onto his cheeks. Peter avoided your eyes. "There's one more obstacle, actually… " 

"What a surprise." Loki fished a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his already spotless mouth. "What's the matter then, boy?" 

Peter seemed to shrink in his seat. "I found a suspicious place, but… It's for adults. They didn't let me in, even in the suit..." 

You failed to contain your laugh, which made Peter disappear under the table more. Loki only sighed, with something close to resignation. 

"That actually explains a lot—Could you please stop cackling like an idiot for a second?" Loki snapped while you fought for breath, laying on the table. Loki decided to ignore the strangled sounds you were making, and turned to Peter, barely visible but still bright red. "I have a feeling that your little investigation hit a dead end, which usually results in asking someone more experienced for help." 

"I… Hoped you'd agree to help me. I don't really have anyone else, and the Avengers are already busy with the stuff they don't want to tell me about." 

Loki blinked. He fell into his own hole. 

You seemed to realise it too, for you mastered yourself at last and looked at him with a devilish grin. "What a coincidence, Peter, sweetie. It looks like we're not busy. Or are we, oh dear god?"

Peter watched through his fingers as blood began boiling in Loki. It probably had something to do with the proximity of your face, shamelessly grinning, to his, with a brow twitching. Peter was by no means an expert, but he had a suspicion that one more reason for Loki's foul mood could be the finger you poked his cheek with. He snapped a photo almost absentmindedly, barely touching his phone. 

"So, what do you say, oh dear god, to the pleas of your humble believer? Will you turn a blind eye to the struggles of those who can't help themselves? Will you blatantly refuse to recognize the trust put in you…?" 

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Loki snapped finally, pushing you away with his elbow. "It's not like I planned to refuse, mind you!" 

Peter gasped. "So you're in?" 

"Uhh…" 

"I knew I could count on you, guys!" 

The boy's arms locked over Loki's and your neck, bending you awkwardly over the table for the hug. "We're going to fight crime together!" 

You patted his back, wishing you could see Loki's face, currently pressed into Peter's other arm. Loki was silent as the grave. 

Peter released you after a moment. A smile was splitting his face in half, and his eyes were suspiciously watery. "I knew I could count on you!"

"Any time, kid. We fight monsters, kidnappers, and now solve crimes. We're a whole package. We should get a business card and start advertising." 

Loki was of a different opinion, but he remained silent. Watching the boy's excitement and gratitude filled him with something that, if you tried really hard, almost resembled happiness. Almost was the key word. He was above such simple pleasures as feeling useful. 

"Oh, I forgot to ask you something," Peter started, rummaging through his pockets. "I bought something for MJ, because she was talking a lot about Lord of the Rings lately, but I'm not sure if it'd be a good idea to give this to her. It's not the same as the One Ring, but it kinda resembles it, right?" 

And then he showed you precisely what your own heart desired. 

The golden shimmer, the polished smoothness and the gentle, intertwined design of hair-thin letters that spoke directly to your soul. It was everything you ever needed, if only 'ever' could be restricted to the past hour. 

Loki paled and dared a look at you. His own heart shuddered, and rose up his throat. The air was thick and full of possibilities. 

You broke into a smile. 

"Peter, my dearest boy, do you think that we could borrow it for a few hours?" you chirped sweetly. There was an edge in your voice that made Peter shiver, even though he could not tell why. 

He swallowed and nodded. He was unsure what string of events his decision would initiate—he only hoped that the world would be ready for it. At least a team of heroes lived in the same city. 

He looked at his watch. "I have to run back now, because my break ends soon, but thank you guys so much for everything! I'll call you later and give you the address of, you know, The Place!" 

The boy rushed back to school, waving to you and then the owner who didn't raise his head from the magazine. Loki watched the boy run through the whitened street, careful of not slipping on ice, and not so careful about making other people slip. 

Gold reflected in the window. He looked at the tiny ring in your hands and then at your utterly feral smile. 

"I thought we were supposed to be the good guys," he said. "The good guys wouldn't do that." 

You clicked your tongue. "Who said anything about being good? As far as I remember, we've only agreed on not being the evil ones. There's a tiny line in between those two concepts, and I must admit I feel very comfortable walking on it. Aren't you?" 

A corner of Loki's lips twitched. 

"You don't walk on it—you waltz all over it, and trample both sides equally whenever it suits you…" 

You waited. 

"...and I love it." 

[timetoresurface]

secrets (1) / BBH

Y/N x CEO BAEKHYUN

First part 7k words

Will be more

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4 // PART 5

Hopping from one job to another, you really wanted to keep your position at Banking and Finance. If you would have to describe your perfect work environment, it definitely wouldn’t be at that stupid finance magazine that had the worst coffee machine in history. But hey, it did pay the bills, and that’s what everyone does, right? A perfect job doesn’t exist, right? A perfect life doesn’t exist, right? Only in cheap romantic comedies was life perfect, and you certainly weren’t in any. At least the last time you checked.

Of course, you have secrets. Everyone has secrets. It’s completely normal to have a few secrets. They’re not even that big, to begin with. For example, you haven’t told your roommate it was you who lost her favourite sweater. You could have sworn you had last seen it hanging at your office, but it wasn’t there anymore. So now she thinks she misplaced it herself, and you were in the clear of her wrath. You also hadn’t told your parents you didn’t get the promotion because you were never even considered for a promotion. You simply told your family you were just too young for such a big responsibility. Still, your company would favour you when another spot opened up. Sometimes you just like to hide a few details in your favour. You were sure you would get the next promotion if you just worked a bit harder and read less horoscopes during the day.

“Hello Y/N, would you like the usual?” Your favourite barista asked you when you entered your local coffee shop. Ever since you started working at your company, you would get the same order every morning. It didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Yes, please.” You quickly send him a grateful smile which made his ears turn a little red. Of course, you also liked the fact that said barista had a little crush on you. You’re flattered, to say the least, he was a handsome young man named Jungkook, but he was too young for you. He’s still in college for crying out loud. His mother still does his laundry. 

“Coming right up.” And of he went making you a cup of coffee with the right amount of soy milk. Just how you liked it.

“Thank you so much.” You took your drink from his hand, and your fingers brushed for just a second, but you felt nothing. He was handsome, indeed, and if you were younger, your heart would have sped up, but there was just nothing there. 

You walked the familiar route toward your office building. You worked for one of the top banking magazines, well they didn’t really call it a magazine, more like a weekly newspaper or something. You didn’t exactly know to be honest, but the most crucial part is that you have a job at a top company. You only lied about one or two things on your resume, it’s not like they check everything. It wasn’t even lying, you just added a couple of things you might not necessarily do every week, but sometimes plan on doing. You would most definitely like to invest, you just didn’t have the money or knowledge.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N.” The old security guy greeted you with a beaming smile. You have always been his favourite, and that’s only because you tell him to have a beautiful day from time to time. People who work in banking are most definitely not considered friendly or social or even human for that matter.

“Good morning, any wild plans for this weekend?” You asked him while you badged yourself in. 

“My grand daughter’s first ballet recital is this Saturday.” His timid smile told you everything you needed to know, he was nervous.

“How lovely, wish her luck.” You told him while giving him a thumbs-up, he gladly reciprocated. He’s kind of your best friend in this building. Sometimes you even snuck out of the office to drink a cup of coffee with the older security guard, and he would tell you all kind of stories about his family.

Your company was located on the top three floors of the building. The other levels were some other magazines you had never heard of in your life. You just needed to remember you worked for Banking and Finance, a well-respected weekly newspaper. You had only started working here a couple months ago, well almost a year now. Before that, you didn’t really do anything with money, except for spending it on useless stuff like new boots. Boots you could never wear at your office because there is a strict dress code. Men should wear suits, and women should wear knee-length skirts and a perfectly fitted blazer in neutral colours like black, blue, grey,… you know: boring clothes.

“Y/N can you please look through this research about the acceleration…” your co-worker Mina started the moment you entered the workspace. She kept on going about acceleration, and you had no clue what the hell she was talking about. You have worked here for almost a year, and you still didn’t have a clue about banking and their accessions and analysis. You quickly learned to simply nod, remember a word and browse google with said word. You weren’t caught yet, so you must be doing something right.

“… also, can you please get me some coffee?” She ended her monologue while throwing some papers on your desk. You silently nodded, and she finally left you so you could take off your coat. This was a new record, you thought, you were in five minutes early, and you still couldn’t take a breather. The moment you entered was the moment hell began. With a soft sigh, you made your way over to the kitchen area to make you co-worker some coffee she could have easily made herself. News quickly spread that you were making coffee, so everyone wanted a cup. Lazy bastards. The coffee ain't even good.

“Y/N can you please come in?” Your floor manager asked you when you gave everyone their cups of coffee. With a quick nod, you made your way over to the manager’s own desk. You were all seated in cubicles, it was to monitor and motivate or whatever, while your manager requested a private office with a glass door, which he never really closed. What’s the point of a closed office if you never close the god damn door?

“How can I help you today, sir?” You asked him while he offered you a seat. He tried not to glance at your bare legs while you seated yourself and your skirt rode up a bit. It wasn’t exactly proven, but you thought he only hired you because of your looks. Not to say you thought of yourself to be the prettiest girl out there, but you were most certainly the only women under thirty that had applied for this job. It most definitely worked in your favour.

“I want to offer you a chance to grow.” He quickly started, trying to keep his eyes on your face and not your white blouse that might have been a little see-through if you looked really hard. Which he tried not to do.

“One of our top advertisers is hosting an event this weekend, and I would like for you to be there. To represent our brand and gain a few connections.” He began, and you were delighted he didn’t use complicated banking terms you had no clue about. This you understood.

“This weekend?” You asked him uncertainly. You had made plans with your roommate to binge desperate housewives while stuffing yourself with bad food you were not allowed to eat during the week. Or at least you told your roommate you never went to McDonald’s during the week. She didn’t need to know you liked your chicken nuggets every Wednesday. It is no crime to hide your bad habits from the people you loved. 

“Yes, this Saturday afternoon. I booked you a flight for tonight, so you have maximal prepare time. Your flight back is Sunday morning. I hope you didn’t make any important plans this weekend?” He asked you suspiciously, as if he knew you had no intentions of doing anything this weekend. Well, not important plans, but they were fun plans, and you had to cancel them.

“No, not at all sir. I’ll be there at the event.” You fake smiled up at him before shaking his hand in fake enthusiasm. You really wanted to earn more money and get a promotion, but you really hated this job.

“That’s great Y/N.” He shouted after you when you exited his office, his gaze lingering on your ass. Pencil skirts were only designed to please men, and make women feel uncomfortable. 

“What was that all about?” Your colleague next to you whispered. His name is Oh Sehun, and he might be as clueless as you are. He was really hired because of his good looks, and he knew it. He knew he was handsome, and he tried to get everything out of his good looks. He got a promotion after only three months at the company without actually doing any work. 

“I’m going to an advertisers event this weekend.” You whispered back, barely hiding your proudness of the fact that you had been chosen.

“Oh, yeah I was wondering who he was going to ask to replace me. Good luck Y/N.” Sehun told you while returning his focus on his screen where he was playing some dumb cards game. It did hurt your pride that you hadn’t been chosen to do this particular task, but you could prove to  be better than Sehun. You could prove to your manager that you were ready for more and that you’re more competent than Sehun. At least you tried to remember some of the banking vocabulary unlike Sehun.

“Thanks.” You ended the conversation that had already ended for him. Looking over your desk, you noticed the research about the acceleration or something Mina had talked about only an hour ago, and you sighed. A deep and heavy sigh of someone who was lost in the woods and couldn’t find the highway even though they heard cars passing. That’s how it feels to be stuck at something you understand shit about. That’s life, my dad would say, just make sure that you can pay the bills. He should be a life coach, he’s very inspiring. Really.

—

“What should I wear? What kind of event is it going to be? Garden party? Cocktail party? High-class reception where everyone wears black party? Why didn’t they tell me?” You were sat in the middle of your room with all your clothes thrown around. Your best friend Jennie stood in your doorway with a shocked expression on her face. How could she be when she found you in this position every other weekend. 

“Calm down, we can do this.” She took your arm and made you stand up. You were both standing there and staring at the mess you made in under five minutes. Never underestimate the power of a woman under stress. They can fly high and crash all at once. It’s beautiful.

“Why didn’t they tell me?” You screamed in despair while covering your face with your shaking hands. You wanted to drop down on your knees, but Jennie held you in place.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so melodramatic. Just pack one of your work suits, a stylish black dress and maybe the cute new green skirt with white flowers if there is a garden party involved.” How did she always sound so logical? Why was she so put together? Why weren’t you like her?

“Don’t look at me like that, go and find the clothes I told you about and I will look for some shoes.” You quickly started looking for the clothes she told you about while she did her thing, organizing while in search of something. She’s a teacher, so she’s used to dramatic kids who can’t find their favourite pencil or something, so you were like a calm walk in the park compared to these kids. Well, maybe not a quiet walk, maybe more of a rushed morning jog through the park. Still better than fifteen screaming kids.

“I have a dark green suit. My perfect black dress that’s not work-appropriate but could be advertisers event approved. And I’ve got a blue summer dress if it is an outside event with fancy cocktails.” You proudly checked your mental list. This wasn’t so difficult after all.

“You also have a comfortable pyjama with you and enough underwear to be gone for two weeks. You’re good to go.” Jennie finished off your list while closing your black carry-on. 

“Are you going to get changed into something more comfortable or are you supposed to wear a pencil skirt to travel?” She asked you eying you creased skirt and half open white blouse showing of your pink bra.

“I’m just going to change into some jeans and shirt, I’m not working while I’m on the plane, right? Work only starts tomorrow at the event.” You told her while looking for your favourite pair of jeans. You could have sworn you just saw them somewhere in here.

“Get changed. I’ll drive you to the airport to make sure you’re there on time. I don’t think I could stand you without a job again.” She jokingly replied before leaving your room.

“I did do all the laundry back then.” You yelled at her.

“Yes, and my white underwear is still pink because of it.” She yelled back at you, and the both of you laughed at the memory. Why isn’t there a class to be a good housewife? You know, some cleaning and cooking classes put together? 

“I told you before, the machine did that, I didn’t do anything.” You said while walking through the apartment looking for your pants.

“Keep telling that to yourself.” She giggled while pouring a glass of water.

“I will.” 

“Please put on some pants. I don’t need to see these extremely white legs of yours.” She commanded when she saw you shamelessly running through your shared place in pink underwear. 

“I don’t know where they are.” You sighed defeated while plopping down on the orange sofa that took up whole your shared living space.

“They’re on your bed Y/N.” She sighed, and you quickly went looking for your best pair trying to avoid the stare Jennie gave you. Like you were some lost child who was in desperate need of some guidance. 

“Are you ready? Do you have everything with you?” She asked you after she drove you to the airport. You nodded your head, trying to hide the sick feeling in your stomach.

“You’re going to be fine.” She finally said while giving you a hug. 

“Of course, I’ll be fine, I’m Y/N, a fierce young woman.”

“That’s the spirit.” And with these words, she left you in the large departures hall of the airport. A place you hated. Let’s hope this is not going to be like the first episode of lost? Or worse, the Grey’s Anatomy crash in the woods episode. Lexie was your favourite. Rest in peace.

—

“Everything has been taken care of. Please enjoy your stay.” The receptionist handed you a card with a number on it, and you returned her smile. 

“Thank you so much for your assistance.” You grabbed your things and made your way over to the elevator.

“Oh, miss Y/L/N, there will be a car ready at eleven AM to get you to your destination. Please be ready.” You simply nodded your head and pressed the elevator button. Room 303. That must mean you’re on the third floor. A ping sound awakened your internal struggles to stay awake after the short flight you just had. You were never really a big fan of flying, and most definitely not alone, but you’re still alive. That’s good enough for now. 

“Hold the elevator, please.” A young man shouted before throwing his whole body into the small space. He hurriedly pressed a random button and regained his posture. His jacked had fallen off, but he didn’t do anything to fix it which weirdly irritated you. Usually you weren’t the nitpicking type.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m in a bit of a rush.” He finally noticed his blazer to be in a compromising position and fixed his appearance. He glanced into the mirror and was carelessly checking himself out. He did look good, but boy did he know it. His hands run through his hair as if it didn’t already look perfect.

“That’s okay, glad you made it safely into the elevator without losing a piece of yourself.” You deadpanned. 

“That would’ve been a disaster.” He answered you with a big smile that would make most ladies faint, but somehow only irritated you. Luckily for the both of you this is a short elevator ride, and not a three hour car ride. He wouldn’t have survived. 

“Slightly inconvenient as I’m in a rush to get to bed.” The elevator made another noise signalling your floor, and you gladly stepped out of the small space to get away from the self-centred man. 

“I’m Baekhyun by the way.” You simply stared at him before the elevator doors close themselves. Why would he even introduce himself to you? You would hopefully never see him again, so an introduction seemed a bit unnecessary to you. Never mind the guy, there are more important things to worry about.

There had been a folder with information about the event and the advertiser. Apparently, it was an essential online banking thing, and the event would be something like a walking dinner, but at brunch time. So a walking brunch. In other words, the perfect occasion to wear your flowy blue dress as it didn’t seem too uptight of an event. 

The phone in your hotel room rang, signalling your car would be ready in five. You quickly put on your shoes and grabbed your bag, making your way downstairs. You weren’t going to be late on your first solo event, you were going to be politely on time, so your company would look good.

“Hi there, going anywhere?” You turned around and looked questionably at the stranger. It was the man from last night. The man who introduced himself without reason. The man who knew how good-looking he was. You couldn’t disagree with him at this moment. He wore a light blue suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but somehow he made it work. He brushed the blazer behind is back and put his hand inside of his pockets. Underneath his fitted blazer was an even more fitted white shirt that left little to the imagination. You had to gather all your self-respect to not stare.

“I just like standing at the entrance of a hotel without having a reason whatsoever.” You told him while looking away from him. If someone saw the two of you now, they would think you matched outfits to go to a wedding. They couldn’t be more wrong, but you were annoyed by his perfectness. Why did he have to look so good? And why didn’t he leave you alone?

“What a coincidence, me too.” He said while he took place next to you. Not a word was exchanged, but there was something else. Awkwardness. 

“So, where are you going?” He tried to ask you again.

“Something for work. I don’t exactly know where, but I know that a car was arranged to take me to my destination. “

“I’m not lying, but I’m in the exact same situation.” He tried to connect with your eyes, but you simply kept staring down at your dress. Maybe it might be a bit too short for a work event. You were quickly interrupted when a car stopped right before you and Baekhyun. The driver quickly got out and started to bow before us. Not a simple greeting bow, but an aggressive ‘I” m sorry” bow.

“Miss Y/L/N and mister Byun. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but is there a possibility if you two could share this ride? It’s the same destination, and we’re understaffed at the moment.” The driver seemed hesitant and scared of our reaction, and you immediately felt terrible for the guy.

“If it is the same final destination, I don’t see a problem with it.” Baekhyun told the guy right before opening the door. He looked over at you and motioned for you to get in. 

“I can open my own doors.” You told him while entering the luxurious car. You hadn’t expected this from your company who always seems to be in saving mode. They could better spend the money from this car into a better coffee machine. 

“A simple thank you would have been enough.” He whispered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear. He quickly closed your door and made his way over to the other side of the car. You couldn’t help yourself to look at him. Even when he was simply sat in a vehicle while tapping on his phone, he had this presence that couldn’t be ignored, but you tried to.

The drive was short and comfortable, but your nerves kept you wide awake. This would be your first event, and not only your first it’s also your first solo event for a company you knew shit about. How do you represent a company when you don’t know what they stand for?

“Are you nervous?” The strange man next to you asked. There was genuine concern in his eyes, but you looked away. If he was going to the same event probably meant he worked in the sector. If he worked in the same industry, he would probably be a competitor. If he was a competitor, it would be best to hide all your weaknesses, or he could take down your company in a matter of seconds. Or worse, he could make you jobless again, and you weren’t ready for that. 

“I’m excellent, but thanks for asking.” You kept your gaze focused forward, and your hands fidgeted with your short dress.

“You look great by the way. You’ll do great.” You felt his eyes burning your skin, but you tried to ignore the tension he had created with his statement.

“Thank you, but I will be great because of what I can, and not because of my looks.” 

“I didn’t mean to…-“ but he was interrupted by the driver opening your door. You quickly made your way out of the car and tried to contain your surprise. The event was huge, and by huge, you mean it to be very claustrophobic. There were people everywhere in all shapes and sizes mingling and giggling. 

“You might want to close your mouth.” Baekhyun told you while standing casually next to you. He didn’t seem to care about his surroundings. He’s probably used to these kinds of events. 

“Let’s get our name badges.” He took hostage of your hand and guided you toward the entrance of the building. It was a modern building with glass walls and plants everywhere. Some people were smoking outside with a mimosa in hand. Others were inside enjoying the view while nipping on a fancy looking sandwich. 

The event was too grand for you, and the worst part was that you felt underdressed. You have never been the type to underdress, but you’ve gotten so used to your boring office life, you made a mistake. Men were dressed in colourless suits, and women were dressed in fancy dresses in neutral colours. You checked your outfit in the mirror and cringed at yourself. You weren’t covered in a neutral colour, no you were clothed in a light blue dress that was on the shorter side with a girly floral pattern. The only design you spotted at the event were polka dots. 

“You can go first.” Baekhyun whispered into your ear right before shoving you toward the table with badges. You tried to find your name, but couldn’t.

“Can I help you miss?” A nice lady dressed in a black pantsuit asked you. She glanced at you, and you knew what she was thinking. She doesn’t belong here, let’s help her.

“Are you here with mister Byun?” She eyed you up and down, and her eyes suddenly turned venomous. 

“No, I’m with Banking and Finance. I’m replacing Oh Sehun for this event.” You ignored her glare.

“What’s your name?” You could almost hear the annoyance laced in her tone, but she really tried to hide it. What had you done wrong? 

“Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” You told here with a bright smile she ignored. 

“I see.” Was all that she said.

“Banking and Finance?” Baekhyun asked you while the woman was looking for your badge. 

“Yes.” You answered his question.

“You don’t care where I work?” He turned his back toward the table with badges so he could look at you.

“I would like to see your badge first, so I know you’re not lying when I ask you.” You simply told him, and a chuckle escaped him. He looked like someone who got everything handed to him. He looked like trouble, and you couldn’t afford trouble.

“I don’t need a badge at these events. They all know who I am.” He stated with a smirk.

“Well, I don’t care then.” His mouth twitched, and you were pretty sure he was fighting a smile.

“Here you are.” The woman gave you your badge, and you thankfully accepted. You turned back to Baekhyun.

“It was nice to meet you, mister Byun.” You said, hoping he would understand that you wanted to leave.

“Pleasure was all mine miss Y/L/N.” He said before grabbing your hand and giving it a quick peck. You thanked him one final time and made your way inside the event. 

People looked your way as if they knew it was your first time. Some people whispered to each other with a fake smile plastered on their faces. You tried to ignore the unwanted attention, but it was hard. Maybe a good mimosa would help you. 

“So, who are you?” A man in a dark green suit asked you when you returned from the mimosa stand. He was tall, incredibly tall. The man was perfection in neutral hues; his hair and eyes were the colour of dark roasted beans, but his skin was all tanned. He was skinny, but the way his clothes hung gave away the muscle beneath, and in his wake were heads turning to watch him go. You quickly glanced at his badge and noticed the name of the investor. He must be important.

“I’m Y/N from Banking and Finance.” He seemed a little impressed.

“I’m Chanyeol, and this is my event.” He held out his hand, and you gladly shook his hand. 

“You don’t look like someone who works in finance.” He simply stated, eying you suspiciously as if you had crashed his party.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m a real employee of Banking and Finance.” You tried to lighten the mood, but this was the second person judging you from your looks.

“You must definitely do not disappoint.” You grew slightly uncomfortable, but as it was his party, you simply smiled. 

“The event most definitely doesn’t disappoint.” You tried to change the subject.

“Thank you. I’ve recently discovered the true meaning of brunch, and I might say I’m obsessed with it at the moment.” He told you truthfully before taking a big sip from his mimosa.

“How come?” You said after nipping from your drink. You weren’t here to get drunk even though you needed the liquid luck.

“My mum does brunches, I thought it was something older people did, but I was wrong.”

“You couldn’t have been more wrong. The secret to a happy life is a good brunch paired with a delicious mimosa.”

“Ah, I like you already, but I have to leave. There is someone aggressively signalling me to get to the kitchen. I apologize.”

“No problem. If there’s an emergency in the kitchen, it is more important than anything and anyone in this room.”

“I’ll catch you later.”

Chanyeol had been the opening for many men to strike up a conversation with you. They never tried to talk to you about anything finance related. Some didn’t even ask you where you worked. Some couldn’t even keep their gaze on your face for longer than a minute, and you grew more uncomfortable as the hours passed. 

“If you could, please excuse me.” You told the people around you. They simply nodded and kept their conversation going about something sports-related. 

You quickly made your way over to an empty room. You were done with these people pretending to enjoy each others company. You were just fed up with people commenting you didn’t look like someone who could work in finance. You wanted to go home, but you promised your boss you would represent your company well. You couldn’t leave before dessert was eaten.

“You can do this Y/N. Just ignore these bastards.” You repeated to yourself in the dark room like a mantra.

“Everything okay?” Baekhyun asked you, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. You quickly tried to compose yourself, but nearly knocked something down. He came to your rescue and grabbed the expensive-looking clock before it hit the ground. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” You grabbed the clock from his hands and put it back in place before returning to the party. You heard him say something, but ignored it and kept on walking. Chanyeol grabbed your attention and mentioned you to come over to him. He seemed to be speaking to some other young men in expensive suits. 

“Miss Y/L/N, let me introduce you to some important people. Everyone this is Y/N from Banking and Finance…” and that’s how he introduced you to some influential people in the business. They asked you some questions about your function, but only out of politeness as they didn’t care about what you did. They conversed with each other leaving you out of the conversation unless it was something about the event. 

You couldn’t have been happier the moment dessert came, and some people already started to leave. Chanyeol tied to convince you to stay longer, but you lied to him and told him you had to get straight to the airport as you were already late. He personally helped you book a car that would take you to your hotel in no time. 

You needed a drink. You needed a massive drink that could calm your nerves. Luckily for you, your company had booked you a room in a hotel with a big fancy bar. You know that kind of bar where they serve every drink imaginable. Their menu had four pages dedicated to cocktails only, and you couldn’t have been happier. Well, you would have been happier if the event would’ve gone better. No one would remember the presence of Banking and Finance at this event, and that was all on you. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked you nicely, and you simply told him the first cocktail that had caught your eye. Something with passion fruit. “Coming right up.” He said you before starting your drink.

Why were you such a mess? Why couldn’t you be smart like the others? Why couldn’t you just lock yourself up for a week and study everything you needed to know about banking. You don’t write any articles, you don’t get invited to big meetings because you’re known as research girl who makes coffee. The bartender gave you your drink, and you almost drank the whole thing in one go. He looked at you strangely, but you simply nodded your head. His hands immediately started to make you another, and you couldn’t care if he made you the same drink or something else. You needed the sweetness of the drink to remind you of good summer times with your friends during college. You needed the alcohol to burn your throat to tell you of the times when you were too drunk to function. Too drunk to be reminded of the fact that life sucks, and you really thought life would be better at this age. 

You continued your drinking speed for a good hour, and four cocktails were already swimming in your stomach. You felt the light buzz, and your eyes started to wander. A man is drowning his sorrow in the elixir at one end of the bar, and a young couple flirts shamelessly at the other end with the nectar in hand. The drug seems to have very different effects, depending on the situation of its consumption. There’s a slightly larger woman in the corner table. She holds in hand a large beer, and there is a plate in front of her that seems to hold the remains of what was a serving of nachos.

“Miss Y/N!” Someone called out your name from behind you, and you immediately recognized the low voice of mister Byun Baekhyun, the devil himself. “I thought you were headed straight back home. Didn’t you have a flight to catch?” He asked you while seating himself beside you at the bar. He signed the bartender for a whiskey, and in under a minute he was drinking next to you. Uninvited.

“Aren’t you going to answer my questions?”

“Do I have to?” You took another nip from your drink. You really needed to drink more to ignore the annoyance you felt when Baekhyun was near.

“You can also tell me something about yourself.” He told you. The left side of his lip tugged upwards creating a sinister smirk on his god-like face; casting a spell of lust to eyes that dare look his way. You looked away.

“Please annoy someone else while I’m still asking nicely.”

“Bad day?” He asked you, all cockiness aside. Again he surprised you with a genuine interest in your wellbeing.

“You were there.” You finally gave in and turned yourself toward him almost falling from your chair. 

“You were always surrounded by people. Isn’t that what these events are meant for?” He asked you with confusion in his eyes.

“If these people were interested in my work and my company it would have been fine. It could’ve been great actually.” You tried to explain to him, but he still didn’t understand your troubled mind. He thought you did well.

“They were interested in you.” He tried to reason with you. Boy, has he even spoken to a tipsy girl? You don’t just reason with them, you listen and silently nod.

“Yes exactly. In me, and not my company.” You started to grow more frustrated. Every sip you took from your drink got you more fired up. 

“Do you like your company that much that you would let it steal your spotlight?” He asked you bewildered. He didn’t seem to understand why you would hide in the background.

“I don’t actually, but I would like for once to be appreciated for what I do and not for how I look like.” This got him to be more understanding.

“Well, tell me something about what you do.” His question caught you off guard. You ignored his stare while ordering a new round for the two of you. 

“I don’t want to bore you.” You finally told him after a moment of silence.

“We work in the same field. I don’t think you can bore me that easily.”

“You’re doing it again.” You sighed, resting your head in your hands in defeat. Men just didn’t understand. They were always looked at with respect.

“What?” The liquor made his cheeks turn red, and you almost wanted to touch them. Almost.

“I want to bore you with my knowledge. I want people to look up certain words after they had a conversation with me. I want to bore people.” Your voice grew louder, but Baekhyun didn’t say anything about it. He seemed to be rooted in thought.

“Are you confident that you can bore me?” His voice sounded calm and collected, but his eyes showed an intense passion. 

“Of course not.” You sunk lower in your seat while taking a sip from your new cocktail. That was your fifth in under two hours. New record.

“That’s your first mistake.” He firmly stated. He straightened his back when he realized you were intently looking up at him.

“What?” You asked him when he didn’t continue his inspiring monologue. 

“You need to be more confident. You need to believe you can bore me with your knowledge. You need to be convinced that I will look up words on google after our conversation.”

“Look, thank you for listening and helping, but you can’t help me with being reasonable.” You turned away from him, hoping this would end the tiring conversation.

“What do you need me to do?” His gaze lingered on you, but it didn’t feel awkward.

“Don’t be reasonable.” You simply stated with your fingers wrapped around your drink like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Is there anything else bothering you?” 

“I hate my job Baekhyun. Everything is bothering me.” You spit out, and you immediately regretted your tone. You might not have been the nicest to the young man, but he didn’t deserve the attitude you were serving right now. He didn’t seem fazed by your rudeness.

“Why don’t you just quit your job?” The question was so damn simple but was so much more complicated to answer.

“It’s not that easy.” You finally said.

“How come?” His eyes tried to find yours, but you were deliberately avoiding his gaze. You didn’t want to see his pity. 

“Because that would be my third failed career.”

“Some people need time to find out what they want to do in life. That’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m almost in my thirties, and I’ve accomplished nothing.”

“I hardly believe that. What is troubling you?”

“I check other people’s research. I bring them coffee, and let me tell you something: the coffee isn’t even that good. It’s terrible. I refuse to drink that tasteless brown liquid. They spend money on a fancy car to drive me to an event, but they can’t even spend money on a better coffee machine…”

“… I’ve lied to get this job. I told them I spoke French and that I had experience in investing. Like what the hell would I invest in? A shoe? My bank account never reaches anything above 100…” You were on a roll. Baekhyun had opened the gates of your personal hell: the inside of your brain.

“…And don’t get me started on Oh Sehun. He barely puts in any effort, and I’m not saying that I’m an angel in that department, but I at least try to understand the shit people are saying. All he does is play card games all day long, and try to suck up to people…”

“…My parents are also so proud of my new job, and they tell me that everyday. I can not just leave something when it makes my parents proud. I’m glad they forgot about the time I wanted to start my own catering business. I’m still paying off all the debt that stupid thing caused…” You continued with the word waterfall that came out of your mouth unwillingly. Why didn’t you just stop? Baekhyun didn’t care, but he kept listening to your rambling.

“…How was I supposed to know that family got bankrupt right after the wedding I catered? How was I supposed to know?…”

“…I never told my roommate I slept with her boyfriend the day after they broke up. What kind of person am I? Who does something like that?…” His eyes stayed on your face, never scanning your body, and you felt oddly comforted. 

“… Maybe I should give the coffeeshop guy a chance. He’s the only one willing to have sex with me when I wear these hideous and most importantly, boring outfits for work. He deserves an award for that, so I should just give to him right?…” He kept sipping from his drink while you had your meltdown, but he wasn’t judging. His eyes were unreadably, but there was no judgment in them. Of that, you were sure. 

“… My ex is engaged! Can you imagine? That’s my second ex-boyfriend who got engaged with the girl that came after me. I did all the hard work of training him to be better, and she just got it for free. Without fights or dirty stuff in the bathroom. How does that make me feel? Well, let me tell you, I feel like shit that everyone I date seems to find the one after we break up. I had to explain to him that cumin in me doesn’t equal me having an orgasm for crying out loud. I did that for the other girl …”

“… My colleague Mina is the biggest bitch in the office. Everyone likes her and adores her, but she’d walk all over them to get what she wants. She knows I don’t know anything about banking, so she always gives me the most difficult tasks. I think she wants to break me, but I wont. I water her plant with coffee sometimes. I want the plant to die…”

“… Why does the coffee suck at work? Why don’t they give us something better? Coffee is a basic thing, you know. I deserve some good coffee…” You looked into his eyes and realized you had just blurted out all your secrets to a stranger. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my problems.”

“I did ask what was troubling you.”

“I feel dizzy. I’m heading up. Until hopefully never.” You quickly got up and made your way to the elevator, ignoring Baekhyun’s calls. You were too embarrassed and too drunk to deal with him. You need sleep, and maybe a good cry. He tried to catch up to you in the elevator, but you pressed the button to close the doors. 

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

genre: college au, teacher/student, dance instructor!hoseok, dance student! y/n, fluff 

warning(s)!!!: college stress (duh), y/n waited a couple years after high school before college for fiances, it’s not a college au unless someone works at a coffee shop lol, flirty hoseok, y/n might be a bit ditzy but in a cute way, y/n is also scared of storms 

w.count: 5.4k

summary: moving to Seoul, South Korea had been a dream of yours and when you found out that you got accept at one of the best universities, you couldn’t have been happier!  That is until you met your dance teacher.  He was handsome, but strict and he made you fall for him hard.  You never thought he would feel the same until you got locked up one rainy night. 

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble | [Rated: PG-13] 

a/n: this is my contribution to BangtanIDX Prompt Twist! I got @pjmsgalaxy​ prompt, so I hope she (and everyone else) enjoys it! Gotta be honest, I’m not sure if I’ve ever written a teacher/student fic  and i don’t read much of them dafdlskf, there’s a first time for everything LMAO  I hope I did alright asdlfjakj (I also very very sloppily proof read this, or i proofread half of it then got lazy uhoh) 

“Where did I-” you muttered to yourself as you dug through the fourth box in your newly moved into studio apartment.  You were a reigning champ of procrastination and now you were looking for your gym duffel to place all your dance equipment in.  

Not finding it in lucky box number four, you sighed and continued your quest to find the hideously amazing holographic duffel your mother had bought for you just before your move to Seoul.  “There you are!” You exclaimed as you saw a small patch of shining, colorful silver before you grabbed it and yanked it out.  Small trinkets and pens flew from the box in its rupture out of the cardboard prison.

It had been just two days since you had signed a lease for this single, tiny, cramped apartment in Seoul.  But, it was your best choice of living because who would’ve thought that Seoul’s living expenses were through the roof.  It would do, however; since you were finally getting ready to enroll in Hanyang University in their department of dance. Part of your subconscious wasn’t able to comprehend the fact that you managed to get into a private university in Seoul, but nonetheless there you were.  

You sat on your floor, boxes all around you with your holographic duffel with rainbow striped straps on your lap.  You sighed as you felt a small flutter of nerves in your chest.  

This was what you have wanted since you realized how much you loved dancing.  Graduating, majoring in dance, going to a prestigious school.  It was all so much more dazzling than you thought it’d be.  Of course, you had to take a couple years off of high school to save up enough money to even begin thinking about college tuition, but now here you were.  Two years of hard work finally paid off as you were enrolling into education once more. 

“Oh shoot,” you hissed as you placed the duffel aside and made for other boxes.  “I need to find my alarm clock. I know I just saw it,” you muttered more as you began to once again dig around.  Unpacking fully would need to wait- it was already 7 in the evening.  Unpacking your new home would be a tomorrow job and future you’s problem.  

It was bright and early the next day as you dragged yourself out of your messy, box filled apartment with a bag of books and folders and your duffel packed full with a water bottle, proper shoes and a change of clothes.  Along with your typical dance classes of ballet and choreography (or also called composition) courses, you would be taking your standard classes as well.  Dance history and theory for example.  Those were more sit down and take notes classes, so your standard textbook and spiral notebook were absolutely a must. 

Dressed with your jeans rolled to your calf and your shirt untucked, you walked to sit patiently at the public bus stop just in time to catch the 8 o’clock morning rounds.  Getting off with a handful of other college students, you almost halted at the university gates.  Those nerves thumping in your chest again before you pulled yourself together and finally took those first steps as a twenty-year-old college student. 

You entered the spacious dance studio your choreography class was held in as you gulped.  You had just changed into your leggings and sweater with your less than brilliant shoes with just enough grip left on the soles not to slide around.  

You ducked your head instinctively as you trotted to the back of the room. The mirrors across the studio tracked your every tiptoed step as some students were stretching. Some were doing warm ups, some doing small numbers of footwork, others just standing talking or keeping to themselves until the instructor came. You were of the latter group. Taking refuge up in a corner as you sat your duffel (that happened to stand out way too much among the others) behind you and took a seat.  

As you sat, you opened your legs in front of you and did small stretches just to occupy yourself until the class began. The lump in your throat made it damn near impossible to even try and talk to someone else even though you knew you’d be working and dancing with these people through your major years. 

As you were stretching forward to grab around your foot and feel the comfortable pull in your legs, you silently hoped that the instructor you ended up with wouldn’t be a complete nightmare.  You’ve seen and read one too many dramatic stories that involve over the top teachers who have the ‘perfect or failing’ mentality.  Of course, you knew that it was all for show and production in your books or on your television screen- but nonetheless, it was stressful to think about. 

You yelped when someone tapped your shoulder, getting your attention as you were previously too lost in thought about an over dramatic, middle-age crone with a permanent frown as your teacher- may as well imagine Lady Tremaine as the instructor of your nightmares. 

When you turned, ready to apologize you nervously chuckled as you saw the handsome red haired man sat beside you with a Puma bag beside him.  Wearing gym shorts and a jacket matching his duffel with worn out shoes, he pushed his hair out of the way of his sweat band around his head.  He smiled, waving at you. 

“First year, huh?” He asked gleefully as you just nodded before clearing your throat. 

“Oh, yeah.  I just enrolled. I feel a bit awkward since I’m older than the other freshman by a couple years.  Guess that's what I get for taking a couple years after highschool though, huh?” You joked back to the stranger as he sat and crossed his legs beside you. He nodded, closing his eyes in a face of understanding. 

“Makes since though.  This school isn’t cheap, for sure.” With another nod, he opened eyes when he grinned widely again at  you.  “Don’t worry about it,” he told you with a shoulder pat.  “You look young anyways. You’ll fit right in. We twenty-somethings’ need to stick together, huh?” He asked as you looked at him with a small sparkle in your eyes.  

“You’re in your twenties?” You gasped lightly. “Oh, jeez that was rude. Sorry,” you awkwardly brush off as you mentally screech into the void.  Thankfully, he just laughed at you- but seemed blissfully unoffended.  

“I’m definitely in my twenties,” he confirmed.  He looked at the watch on his wrist as he silently opened his mouth into an ‘o’ as he started to uncross his legs to stand.  He patted your back again. “Thanks for the chat, I’m a lot less anxious now,” he told you as he started moving away.  You looked back to your lap and let out a breath.  You smiled.  If anything- he was the one who worked your anxiety away.  

Your attention was grabbed when the studio door was shut and someone clapped from the front of the studio by the wall full of mirrors. Repeated students from previous years were soon sitting down and the freshmen were all sitting rigid- just as you were in your corner. 

At the front of the class was the same guy who was just talking to you.  Setting his duffel from his shoulder to his feet by the mirror wall on the floor. He turned and placed his hands on his hips as he looked around the room of 20 something students.  Some familiar, some not.  He just smiled at them all as a group. 

“I sure hope this is everyone,” he started speaking when the small murmuring of others died down to focus on him.  “I don’t take well to students being late, so make sure to remember that.  If you’re not here on time, I’m locking that door and you’re not getting in.” He addressed, pointing to the studio door that was firmly shut. “On with formalities then,” he clapped again as he moved to start pacing back and forth along the mirrors.  “As of today, some of you had never seen me before. Why? Well, because you're new of course.” He stopped in his paces before he turned to face the class sitting on the wooden floor. “I’m Jung Hoseok, and I’m this studio’s choreography instructor. Feel free to address me casually if you’d like.” 

You nearly threw your head against the wall you leaned back against.  You were just chatting it up and talking about age with your teacher?! He was one of very few people who really didn’t need to know your age.  Not to mention, the passing thought of thinking he was an attractive man suddenly felt taboo. You’ve heard of teachers and student’s hooking up, but only in stories! 

However, by the time the class ended many things were apparent to you.  One, this class wasn’t going to have a shortage of difficulty. Hoseok ran through the curriculum and all the points and class topics he wanted to hit and practice through the semesters.  

Two, you’d definitely need to start opening up to your classmates for group and duo projects or else you wouldn’t get very far into your college career. 

Lastly three, the way Hoseok acted and carried himself like another goofy highschooler who loved dancing more than a fish loves water made him undeniably attractive and maybe- just maybe- your hopeless romantic heart thudded under your hoodie. 

It was a week into your college course that you were already feeling tired from all the running back and forth between physical classes and sit down classes.  You felt like your legs were screaming, but eventually you knew you’d get used to it. 

You were walking as you packed your books into your bag. One thing that Hoseok made clear wasn’t a joke on the first day was his ‘locking the door if you’re late’ rule.  He ended up locking 3 students out of the studio on the second day and you made sure that if it was getting close to his classes start time, you were running and weaving past students in the halls and outside in the quad.  Rules be damned. 

You had just stepped out of the bathroom where you had locked yourself inside a stall to change into your sweats and tee from your jean shorts and sweater when you bumped into your aforementioned handsome dance instructor. 

Too busy trying to pry your water bottle out of your duffel mixed with trying to shove your wadded up clothes back into the same duffel and juggling your other class’ bag with books on your shoulder all met in the demise of your shoulder at your rammed into Hoseok’s. 

Your metal thermos hit the title in the most unmelodic sound known to man as you jolt and screech in a semi-panic all in an attempt to catch it.  Before you could shove your duffel behind you with your sweater hanging half out to reach for your fallen drink in it’s metal prison, Hoseok was already bent at the knees and picking it up instead. 

You took the chance to shove your stupid clothes into your duffel completely and zip it when Hoseok was ready to had you your thermos.  All while he just stifled a chuckle you could see building in his cheeks.  

“In a rush?” He teased, knowing full well his class started in under ten minutes.  You bit back the sarcastic reply on your tongue, reminding yourself that this was your teacher- not just another student you could afford to smart off to.  

“Well, I don’t want to be locked out, so,” you shrugged, unsure if your tone made you seem snippy. Hopefully not. 

“The day I have to lock you out of the studio for being late, maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll let it slide.” He teased as he placed your thermos into your palm.  “Let’s go if you’re heading that way.” 

“You’re walking with me?” 

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged.  “I’m going to the same place and besides, I did say that we twenty-somethings need to stick together,” he joked in a lop-sided smile that pushed up one of his cheeks.  

“I wish you’d forget that I ever mentioned my age to you at all,” you groaned as he started walking and you tailed behind him until he slowed his pace to walk beside you.  You rushed into the studio in front of him to make sure you made it before him as you rushed to your designated corner before anyone could notice you walked with Hoseok to his class.  Properly tying your shoes, you rotated the ball of your worn dance shoes, listening to them squeak as they tried to grip the floors the best they could. 

You really needed a new pair soon. Your new job’s first paycheck will be used more for bills then it seemed, a new pair of shoes seemed to be in your future. As Hoseok started class and got everyone to their feet to work through some simple steps to get warmed up for a proper assignment on the horizon, you could help but once again admire his shift from friendly, giggly Hoseok who teased you in the hall to the strict and passionate dance instructor.  

“Y/n, could you run the register for just a couple more minutes?  Laura is running late, but she said she’s just around the corner stuck in that traffic jam.”  Your boss begged as you were about to clock out from your third day on the job.  It wasn’t too hard to learn the ropes since you knew how to work registers as well as you could recite the alphabet.  You just smiled, trying to wipe the crease out of her brows.  She was clearly hoping you wouldn’t say no. 

“I don’t mind,” you told her, her shoulder slackening. “I know the traffic sucks today. I can hang around a bit longer. I don’t have anything else to do tonight anyways.” With a promise to pay you for your overtime from your boss, you re-tied the apron around your waist and rushed back to the front where you joined the floundering staff already there.  “What can I help with?” You asked them as they rang up someone.  

“Just get me away from this thing,” they half whined in a weak laugh as you stepped up and began taking orders like you were programmed to do.  Working through customer after customer, you soon saw Laura rushing into the coffee shop when the bell above the door jingled.  She ran to you behind the counter.  Apologize for being late, you assure her to take her time and not to worry too much about it.  

You finally clocked out when you snagged a muffin from the display and made your way out around the counter. Your boss spoke to you for a moment across the display of pastries as Laura was already hard at work until closing hours.  You bit into your muffin as you heard someone call you.  Thinking it was a co-worker from the familiar ring it had, you turned immediately only to be met with none other than Hoseok.  

He came jogging up to you, a coffee in his hand. 

“Oh, Instructor Jung,” you greeted in shock.  He cringed as you addressed him so formally.  Almost everyone in your class had already reverted to calling him by name as he so kindly requested.  You were one of the very few stragglers who still addressed him so formally.  

“Instructor Jung? Really? That makes me sound like some old man who hates people,” he shivered.  “Just call me by name,” he told you.  Your boss tapped your shoulder, asking who this stranger with the round cute cheeks and healthy red hair was.  He took a sip of his coffee through the straw of his to-go cup. He reached his hand across the counter-top to your boss once he swallowed the caffeine.  “Jung Hoseok,” he introduced. “I actually teach Y/n’s dance choreography class in her major.” 

“Well, what a lucky girl she is,” your boss teased you with flickering eyebrows that rose and fell in quick motions. Your face bloomed as you wanted to throw the remains of your muffin at her. You were never so thankful you had so much self-restraint.  “I’ll see her tapping her feet or shuffling around in the back during her break, it’s pretty adorable.” Okay, maybe less self-restraint if she kept going. 

You cleared your throat, face hot as you were determined to escape.  “If you’re done teasing me, I’m going home now.” 

“But of course,” your boss mused.  “I’ll see you back in a couple days sweetheart,” she waved as she went back to her bossly duties of bosshood. 

“It was good seeing you-” 

“You're heading home, yeah? I’ll drive you,” Hoseok offered before you could properly attempt to depart. 

“What?” You asked in shock, nearly dropping the same muffin you wanted to throw just moments ago.  “Drive me? Oh, you don’t need to. I’ll just take the bus.” 

“Nonsense,” he told you, stepping beside you and nudging you with a friendly smile. “It’s cheaper this way.” That was true.  The word ‘cheaper’ was your favorite among the thousands in the words as a struggling college newby.  Ultimately, you ended up in the passenger seat of Hoseok’s jeep as he pulled off the curb and into the awful traffic that had previously made Laura so late to her shift.  “So, you dance at work huh?” He asked, his eyes set on the road as his fingers tapped at his steering wheel. 

“Oh god, please forget you ever heard her say that.” 

Hoseok broke into squawks of laughter that pulled at your own lips and the tension you had built up crumbled as you began to just talk.  You had even forgotten he was your instructor as you spoke to him like you were talking to a friend.  It wasn't until he was pulling up in front of your apartment building when that reality came back. 

“Get some rest tonight,” Hoseok told you before you stepped out of the jeep. “I’m gonna assign drills and dance routines tomorrow in class.” You blinked as you looked at him confused. 

“Why tell me this? Wouldn’t it have been better to wait to tell me with the rest of the class?” You asked as Hoseok just laughed lightly back to you, nudging  your thigh as you started climbing out of the jeep. 

“Have a good evening, Y/n,” he told  you, totally disregarding your previous questions, leaving you ever more confused.  You just nodded at him, now pursuing the topic any longer than you wanted to.  He watched to make sure you got up the set of outside stairs and unlocked your door before disappearing inside before he drove off. 

Just as he had told you, the next day he was assigning certain groups of students different routines or tasks to practice. Over the course of the next week you’d be free to practice your assignment given to you before delivering it to Hoseok. The concept of him not particularly instructing this project was to gauge the level of self-teaching.  He would supervise and give advice and tips if asked, but he would not be out right teaching just yet.  

You were among the group of people given a small little number running just shy of two minutes.  Focusing more on footwork and precision rather than graceful nimbleness.  A faster paced routine was something you felt wasn’t your strongest set of skills, but you enjoyed the feeling of learning nonetheless.  

You often spent your afternoons you didn’t have to work in the studio, or inside the practice rooms off the studio practicing. You had opened up to a few other students given the same routine and gotten their advice as you had given yours in return.  Hoseok had already told you a few times things you needed to keep in mind while practicing. 

This particular night, two weeks into the curriculum you had stayed just a bit too long practicing you had completely lost track of time.  In fact, you would've even stopped to notice the empty rooms and the darkening skies outside if it weren’t for the knocking at the practice room’s door.  

You had locked yourself inside one of the private, off studio’s to listen to the track assigned with your routine. Getting a feel for the beat and tapping to it for a rhythm balance over and over again made you lose track of time absolutely.  When there was a knock you just barely managed to hear over a small dip in the music track, you looked through the room door’s window to see Hoseok waving at you to come out. 

Discarding your headphones, you got up and unlocked the door. Opening it to see your instructor dressed not in his sweats and hoodies for practice, but in jeans and a tee- ready to go home for the day. He looked unfairly well dressed in casual wear.

His brow was dipped as he glanced outside just before he looked back to you in your lamp lit small room. He could hear the faint hums of your music from your headphones you left on the floor behind you. 

“Why are you still here, Y/n?” He asked. You blinked at him as if he was asking some asinine question. “Classes ended hours ago and that storm in the forecast is about to hit. You should get home,” he told you. You opened your eyes as you looked over his shoulder outside the window of the main studio. 

Indeed the skies were dark and sprinkled with raindrops of the future downpour.  How long had you been absorbed in your music? You ran back to your headphones and phone along with your bag and duffel as Hoseok moved to the front of the studio to wait at the door, but with a jiggle of the studio’s door, his face drained of color.  

A jiggle was worrisome, two was just as worrisome and three was completely worrisome with a tablespoon of panic. The door was jammed, the knob not turning and the door not budging even when Hoseok yanking or shoving on it.  

You had shut off the light in the private room, walking out into the lit studio where Hoseok was fiddling with the door.  You could hear the metal of the doorknob rattling under his palm echo in the empty dance room as you got to his side. You already feared what he was going to say when he turned to you with a tense expression. 

“Don’t tell me,” you spoke with a fallen face as he just let go of the doorknob. All routes of escape leading to utter failure.  Hoseok quickly cleared his throat as he looked around the empty room. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he spoke, his voice echoing in the large emptiness.  “Someone will make their rounds in the morning and get us out.  I have some granola bars in my bag we can eat and extra water bottles in my duffel.  We just have to tough it out for one night.” 

He tried making light of the situation to ease your tense shoulders.  He could understand though.  You were busy and lost track of time only to be told to leave by your teacher before some nasty weather hits.  Only to be now stuck in that same room he told you to leave with him.  You probably wanted to go home, take a bath and sleep in your bed. But, now you were forced to stick around in the studio until morning instead.  Talk about an impromptu and unwanted sleepover. 

However, it wasn’t the fact you had to stay in the studio that night that made you nervous.  It shockingly, it wasn’t fact you’d be sharing the space with your more than handsome dance teacher either.  It was the small rumbling you heard outside that made you anxious. 

The first ten minutes of your small sit down with Hoseok was rigid and uncomfortable for both parties.  You were nervous as you picked at your shirt’s loose threads and Hoseok was nervous because he felt like he was making you nervous.  The endless cycle of nerves was suffocating.  

“Sorry for the door,” Hoseok broke the nearly nauseating silence as he scratched behind his neck.  “I didn’t think it’d be busted. Someone must have slammed it shut and jammed it or something.” 

“It’s fine,” was your curt answer.  

Hoseok looked into the mirrors, watching your reflection- too afraid of freaking you out if he actually looked at you.  He cleared his throat.  “So, uh- how’s your routine coming?” He tried again. Maybe a different topic will result in different results. 

“It’s coming,” you shrugged. “Clearly I’m focusing on it too much,” you told him, motioning to the current situation. 

“At least you don’t work today, right?” Hoseok tried lifting the spirits in the room with a smile.  You cracked a smile back to him finally.��

“That’s-”

The sky shook with thunder, interrupting your voice as Hoseok looked outside the window.  The rain had begun as it pelted against the windows. You could hear the wind blow through the roof and along the window outside as it pushed the rain at an angle.  The instructor whistled. 

“That’s some nasty weather,” he muttered. When you didn’t respond in agreement, he looked back to you. He sat straighter when he saw you covering your ears with your palms.  “Y/n?” He called as you seemed to remember where you were as you lowered your hands immediately and placed them back on your lap.  You crossed your legs, bouncing one of them as the rain continued to hit the building and window and the thunder continued to roll. 

It was impossible for Hoseok not to see how jittery the weather got you.  He slowly scooched closer to your side after reaching for the previous mentioned granola snack he had with him.  He offers it to you, hoping to ease you.  You accept it, taking anything to keep your mind off the weather blaring outside like sirens in your head. 

“Not a storm lover, eh?” He asked, but as lightly as he could. He asked in the same way someone would cover a child with a satin blanket. It was soft and comforting the way he spoke. You shook your head as you bit into the grainy snack. “I don’t mind them so much, but I guess some people really can’t stand storms.” 

“‘Can’t help it,” you mumbled after you swallowed a bite.  “I’ve been scared of them since I was little and just never outgrew it.” 

Hoseok was soon rubbing your back as he sat next to you. You jumped every time thunder sounded and closed your eyes with a small yelp each time you caught a glimpse of lightning.  Luckily enough the storm didn’t have nearly the strength to blow out the power, so he wouldn’t need to comfort you in a black out at the very least. 

He was sitting beside you for nearly half an hour before he finally thought of something to keep your mind off the storm.  

“Y/n, dance with me,” he pitched into the empty room as he continued to rub your back.  You shot your head up to look at him, cheeks hot and mouth open in a small ‘huh?’. He just chuckled.  “We’re stuck in here anyways, so let’s dance to pass the time!” He told you he was already spinning to his feet before he grabbed your hands and started pulling you up and out of your cross-legged position. 

“You can’t be serious!” You squealed as he got you standing.  He ran over to the stereo system and hooked his phone up to it before setting a playlist.  Soon, music started pulsing through the speakers as you felt the vibrations of the bass through the floor into your bare feet after long abandoning your shoes and socks. 

He danced back to you as he grabbed your hands and started dragging you around as he laughed.  “Come on! It’ll be fun!” Pretty soon, he was twirling you around every which way he could before he actually started to properly dance.  You were reverting back to your dance brain as you started properly doing footwork and taking correct stances.  

What started as goofing off to keep your mind off the storm turned into a private study with Hoseok watching your practice the very dance that kept you here in the first place this evening. He had turned on the song assigned to you and the small group of people who were assigned the same thing as it looped over and over again. 

Drill after drill with different steps of advice and stance correction was more fun with Hoseok than you thought possible.  He would push on your back to fix your stance or twist your calf when you stepped so you wouldn’t trip.  He showed you how to dance certain parts as  you mirrored him.  

You both watched the reflections of yourselves dancing the same quick footwork number side by side over and over again. And each new drill came with bigger smiles and louder laughing.  You had actually forgotten about the storm outside over the sound of the music and Hoseok’s laughter. 

The storm had subsided well after midnight and you finally fell to the floor, ready for something close to a hardwood nap at nearly three am.  Hoseok fell next to you, still in a fit of giggles as you just breathed heavily.  

“I don't know if I’ve danced that much ever,” you panted as Hoseok rolled from his back to his stomach to look at you on your back staring at the ceiling. He rested his chin over his crossed arms on the floor as he looked at the side of your face.  He finally looked at him, feeling his stares and flinched when you looked into his eyes.  You couldn't bring yourself to look away now.  “Hoseok?” 

He smiled unconsciously bright at your casual calling. “You sound pretty saying my name,” he told you, making your face flush.  “You looked even prettier when you blush too,” he teased, kicking his feet up behind him like a five-year-old. You turned your head away from him finally as you looked back to the ceiling, not able to hide your red cheeks as he just kept admiring them.  “Hey, Y/n?” He called to which you just hummed, not trusting your voice. “Wanna go get some coffee in the morning with me?” 

You whipped your head back to look at him, seeing his smug smile on his head due to your deepening flushed skin.  You felt like you were on the brink of sweating, you were so flushed.  

“I- uh, huh?” 

“When we get freed from the practice room, let’s get coffee. I’ll cancel class so we can. I don’t want to have class after being locked in here all night anyway.” 

“I work in the afternoon though,” you lamely told him.  He just smiled away, unable to bring himself to feel upset about anything. 

“Then I’ll drop you off before work and then pick you up to take you home when you're done.” 

“That sounds like you’re trying to flirt with me.” 

“Y/n, I’m asking you on a date. Of course I’m flirting.” He deadpanned with a smirk as you shot up from laying down to sitting up.  You looked down at him laying on his stomach, that small smirk still painted on his lips as you turned away from him.  

“Well, I guess if you’re asking me,” you muttered. “I suppose I could go for some coffee,” you finished.  Hoseok had to suppress even more chuckles and teases at the sight of your smile he saw in the reflection of the studio’s mirrors when you accepted his offer.  

“Well then, I guess you better get to sleep.  We’ve got a date in the morning,” he chided as he shot up to his knees and palms, moved closer to just barely get into your line of sight to wink you. He crawled to his bag he used as a pillow as you lay across the room from him doing the same.  

How could you possibly get to sleep now? It didn’t matter, you reasoned; as you’d have coffee later to wake you up.

~END~

[homogrimoire-archive]

Life Loves to Surprise

Qrow/Hazel smut with the barest amount of plot.

AO3 Link

Qrow thought he had been to every bar in Vale at least once before, but apparently not. He found one he hadn’t noticed before on his way to his dingy, and rarely used, apartment. He had to be able to say he had gotten drunk in every bar in Vale, and he honestly needed a few drinks after the emotionally draining mission he had finished earlier. So, he made a small detour to the bar that was lodged between two much larger and more noticeable buildings.

The place looked alright, though it was likely it looked better during the late hours. A few strippers were working their pole, though most of the patrons were minding their own business. It was that time of day when sad, unfortunate souls came to drown their sorrows. At the very least, he knew it was unlikely he’d end up in a fight, even with his luck. The people here just wanted to be left alone and forget the cruelties in their life.

Qrow fit right in. He ordered the thing with the highest alcohol content, and took a seat in a dark corner out of habit. Scanning the place lit only by neon lights, he saw that he was right to presume so much about the fellow drunks there. They all sat miserably by themselves, nursing whatever drink they could afford that would get them drunk.

He took his first sip. It went down comfortably warm, with just a bit of bite to it. A few years ago, he would have gagged drinking such a thing, but now, the taste was graciously welcomed with open arms. He let out a low groan of satisfaction, the ice clinking as he placed it back down on the table. Qrow saw that the man in front of him was staring at him. The man quickly averted his gaze and went back his drink the moment he realized Qrow saw him.

Qrow knew at that moment one of two things would happen later: he would either have to fight for his life again, or he would get laid. Whatever would happen, a drunk him would deal with it. Qrow kept an eye on the man as he went through a round of drinks. Qrow caught the huge man staring a few times. Qrow smiled knowingly each time, and Qrow knew he saw, but each time he shrunk away, acting like he wasn’t caught leering. It was cute.

By his final drink at the bar, Qrow decided to make his move. He got up and out of his chair, and sauntered over to the man’s table. He took a seat right in front of him. The man looked up real quick to acknowledge him. Up close, Qrow could see that the big man was very cute and very hot.

“Hey there handsome, come here often?” Qrow asked the man. Yes, it was cheesy and basic, but it got the man to answer.

“Not really.” he answered. Qrow likes his deep voice.

“Yeah. There are better places to be at. There’s a bar a few blocks from here that’s cheaper with better drinks. My place is also a better place to be. I’ve heard it has some really good customer service. Not too far either.” he drawled. The guy was cute as he blushed.

“... You’re not a prostitute, are you?” the man asked. Qrow laughed.

“Sometimes, I wish I was.”

“Your place sounds good then. Lead the way.” He said as he stood up, revealing his full height. Qrow was in awe of how huge the guy was. Already, his hopes were high. On the short walk, he learned that the man’s name was Hazel, and that he was currently a bodyguard for a ballet school.

The moment Qrow unlocked the door, Hazel was all over him, and Qrow was all for it. The guy was an aggressive kisser, and Qrow was going to be just as aggressive. It had been a while since he had been so aggressive, and with a big guy like Hazel, he was going to be as aggressive as he wanted. As they made out intensely, they practically ripped each other’s clothes off.

Once Qrow’s pants were off, Hazel pinned Qrow against a wall, and sunk down to his knees, caressing Qrow’s body as he did so. Qrow didn’t even get to see the other man’s cock, to his dismay, but the view certainly made up for it. If Qrow could have gotten any harder, he would have. The sight of the huge man starting to play with his cock was the stuff of the wettest dreams.

First, Hazel slowly played with the head, liking and sucking on it, teasing Qrow as he moaned. What soon followed was positively lewd. Qrow yelped as Hazel went all the way down on him, moaning as he took Qrow’s dick down this throat. The sound of him gagging every now was not enough to compel Qrow to pull away. And if anything, it made Hazel just want to swallow the cock even deeper. With his strong hands, he gripped Qrow’s hips and guided him into face fucking him. Once Qrow got into a rhythm, Hazel used his now free hands to tease Qrow’s sensitive nipples.

“Damn, you’re─” he said in between heavy breaths and another groan of pleasure. “You’re─ Fuck! I’m gonna─” Instead of finishing his sentence, he screamed as he shot his load down the other man’s throat. Qrow could hear the man choke a little, but he didn’t pull away. Hazel made sure to swallow every drop. Once the cum stopped flowing, Hazel took the cock out of his mouth with an obscene pop.

“Are you,” Qrow said, sitting down to catch his breath after having his soul sucked out of him, “you sure you're not a prostitute? Make a damn good one.”

“Hmm. Not a bad prospect, now that you mention it.” Hazel replied. It would be a good way to experiment more, and bring in some more money too.

“My turn!” Qrow eagerly said as he grabbed the hard cock in front of him. It was thick, and dripping precum. He couldn’t wait to have it stretch his hole. He made the move to begin sucking on it, but was stopped by the man’s hand pushing his head back.

“Huh?” he wondered. He wanted to suck some dick, dammit.

“Later. Where’s the bed?” Hazel asked, and Qrow quickly led him to the bed. He laid down on it, and spread his cheeks open for Qrow.

“Ohh.” Qrow said with surprise and excitement. An unexpected, but very welcome development.

“Thought you might be hungry.” Hazel said with a sly smile.

“You thought right.” Qrow replied with a carnal look in his eyes as he dove in to eat the man out. Qrow moaned as he licked and entered Hazel’s manly hole with his tongue. Getting to hear the hulking man moan vulgar words was enough to get him hard again.

“H- hey,” he said to get Qrow’s attention. “I’m ready.”

“Mmm. I think I wanna have a little more fun first.” Qrow said as he pulled out a bottle of lube from under his bed and uncapped it. He spread a layer of it on his fingers, and prepared to prepare the other man even more. But before he even put his fingers in, the bed’s legs gave out, the bed landing against the floor with a loud thud.

“Uhh…” Qrow could hear the concern in the man’s voice.

“Don’t worry about it. Thing’s cheap and I’ve got bad luck.” Qrow sighed.

“If you say so.” Hazel replied.

“Now, where were we…” Qrow said, and went back to fingering the man’s hole. It was a lot more comfortable for Qrow now that Hazel was lower the floor. He hissed as the first two fingers went in. Qrow took his time opening him up, slowly jerking the man’s cock as he did so. Hazel let out a moan when Qrow found his prostate, bucking his hips in retaliation.

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” he said as he put in a third finger and massaged the spot, reducing Hazel to a whimpering mess. Qrow could spend all day listening to that. After about another minute, Qrow took out his fingers and put on a condom, lubing it as well.

“Ready?” Qrow asked as he got up and onto the bed. As he lifted Hazel’s legs up, he could see that the man was in a state that was blissful, yet frenzied state.

“Gods yes!” he answered in exasperation. Qrow was more inclined to be in Hazel’s position, but it sure was damn nice to have a guy like him crying out to be fucked by him. So, eager to comply, he started out with just his head, slowly going in and out.

“Come on, fucking fuck me!” he ordered.

“Bossy.” Qrow teased with a wicked smile. He played with the man for a moment more, pusing in only his head still.

“I swear, if you don’t─” he was cut off by his own scream as Qrow thrusted his cock all the way in. He kept the pace going, eliciting even more of those indecent noises Qrow loved out of the man. He leaned forward so he could sloppily make out with the man as he fucked him nice and hard.

Qrow moaned into Hazel’s mouth as he slid in and out of his hole. It felt so good, he had half a mind to just become a top. But, the thought was interrupted by that telltale tension growing in his groin. Before he could even say anything, he was already cumming, thrusting deeper and more erratically as he groaned from the release. Eventually, he pulled out his cock and yanked off the cum-filled condom, tossing aside it with careless abandon.

“Forgetting something?” Qrow heard Hazel ask just as he was about to rest his head on Hazel’s beautiful, pillowy pecs.

“Hm?”

“Get on your knees.” he ordered, and Qrow realized that he almost forgot to do one of his favorite activities: sucking dick. As Hazel moved to sit at the edge of the bed, Qrow excitedly got on his knees on the floor, and placed his head in between Hazel’s thick thighs. He leered at the hot and thick cock before him as it leaked more precum than before. It looked like it could burst at any given moment. He began to diligently lick every inch, but was pulled up by his hair, making him moan in ecstacy.

“Just suck.” he commanded, and then released his grip. As ordered, he took the cock in his mouth.

Although he couldn’t take it all in like Hazel had done with him, Qrow was superior in his technique, bobbing his head much more efficiently and using his tongue to greater effect. As predicted, Hazel was dangerously close to cumming. He pulled Qrow back by his hair as he groaned loudly from the intense orgasm, letting cum decorate Qrow’s face. As he came down from the high, he looked down at the beautiful and obscene sight before him.

“And here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” he smiled with pride.

“Is that a challenge?” he joked as he made his way to the bathroom.

“May─ Crap. Sorry to leave, but I have work in fifteen minutes.” he said. Qrow could hear him hurry to throw his clothes in.

“It’s cool!” he shouted as he got a shower started. “There might be water in the fridge if you want! And if that sex worker things works out, let me know!”

“Yeah! Will do!” Qrow hears as the door shuts.

As Qrow relaxes under the warm water, he wonders if this bossy bottom would be the one to tame him. He certainly wouldn’t mind. The guy seemed nice enough. Though, he always imagined someone different. But, life likes to mess with Qrow Branwen.

-

Qrow curses the heart that gives him hope, but knows he wouldn’t be alive without it, so he keeps on hoping, for someone.

[thesaltysocialworker]

Waking up in Vegas

Waking up in Vegas (Part 1 of 2)

Synopsis: You got a second chance at a career that you’d grown to love after your own failed attempts at fame; shadowing Luke Windsor as you learn the ropes of becoming an agent. But a trip to Las Vegas with Luke’s most famous client may ruin your dream career before it even gets off the ground. 

Warnings: Sex.

What was that all about?” Tom asked, his voice a bit quieter than normal, but also more forced. “I think Captain America was trying to get into my knickers.” 

“Behind every great man, there’s an even better woman.”

             You smiled gently as you set a tea tray on the edge of Luke Windsor’s desk. “I’m just glad to have you back from your world tour out in the wilds, running this place without you was absolutely insane.” You moved across the wood floor of the office and sat in the chair in front of the desk. You felt lucky to be there, training under one of the most successful agents and talent managers in the United Kingdom. While you may have dreamed of stardom for yourself in your younger years, now you wanted some stability and you’d become more practical as you’d aged. You’d scratched, crawled and fought to get where you were, and had hopes that someday you’d be the one setting behind the desk and not just a junior agent.

             “Premiere tours are insane and glorious all at the same time. However, my partner is not really pleased with me.” Luke refused to look at you as he scanned his e-mails. One of the things he hated and appreciated about you was your perceptiveness. You were hyper aware of the emotions of the people around you, of the very atmosphere in the room. Some may call you a control freak. “Trouble in paradise?” You asked, knowing that he was newly married and it’d taken him a lot to find his husband who would tolerate his crazy schedule, his travelling and his workaholic nature. “He threatened to go to his mother’s if I don’t cancel the Comic-con trip in Las Vegas. But it’s a new event, and I don’t dare let Tom go alone to new events. I need to get the lay of the land first.”

             You were practically bouncing in your seat, your hand gripping the arm of the chair tightly. You could see where Luke was trying to point you. “Stay home. I’ll go.” You shrugged like it was no big-deal. But it was a huge deal. It was a new event, it’d give you a chance to hob-knob with other agents and up-and-coming stars.  It’d be the jump-start you needed to fly solo someday! “Y/n, it’s your birthday. I can’t ask you to give up your birthday to escort Tom around Comic-Con Las Vegas. I know you have some level of disdain for that kind of stuff.” Luke laughed. “It’s not disdain! I’m just not huge into comic books. I’m more of a non-fiction sort of gal. Besides, I need to be able to represent anyone, right? Regardless of their work. Give me a chance, Luke. You won’t regret it. It could save your marriage.”

             Luke tapped his fingers on the desk, finally turning his attention away from the e-mails and back to you. “Alright, you’ve asked for it and you’ve certainly earned it. Get your passport ready and pack your bags, I’ll let Tom know you’re going with. He’ll be thrilled.” You wanted to secretly dance around Luke’s office to celebrate your victory, but you stopped when you heard the ‘he’ll be thrilled’ part. “What?” You asked, truly confused. You’d met Tom a handful of times at the office and followed he and Luke to a few different events as a job shadow. He’d been kind, taken note of the fact that you preferred blueberry muffins and chai-tea at the breakfast bar every morning (religiously) at a hotel and had brought you one pretty consistently when visiting the office. “He likes you. He thinks you have talent.” Luke shrugged.

             “Is he looking for a new agent?” You grinned, moving to your desk in the reception area. “Saucy wench.” Luke muttered, a soft laughter emitting from him as he sipped at his tea. When you made it to your desk and no one was looking until you did that dance, your heels clomping on the wood floor as you completed a spin and landed daintily on the points of your toes. “Did you faint from shock?” Luke called out to you, as you slid into your seat behind the computer. “Nope, just slipped on the wood floor. Heels, you know.” You replied, and Luke snorted sarcastically. “-Said the woman who danced ballet her whole life.”

             The morning finally arrived. You hadn’t slept that night whether out of excitement or terror, you weren’t sure. You’d checked the weather in Las Vegas constantly off and on, shuffled out of bed and pulled things in and out of your suitcase based on the changes and what you assumed was business appropriate. The car arrived at your flat, and as soon as you stepped out of the flat and into the dreary English rain, the backseat door opened and Tom stepped out. “Morning, Y/n. Let me help you with your bags.” He was beaming, and it was way too damn early to be that happy. “It’s alright, Tom. I’ve got it.” It felt awkward that he—the star of the show—was offering you assistance with your bags. “It looks heavy, love. Let me get it. It’s raining, hop in.” He added, taking your bag and shoving it in the trunk. You didn’t fight him, and slid into the back seat. Ironically, you found the familiar Starbucks chai-tea and blueberry muffin in what had become your assigned seat.

             Tom slid in beside you. “You got up and got breakfast at 4am. You’re amazing.” You grinned at the man beside you. “If a muffin is all it takes to please you, what would dinner in Vegas earn me?” His blue eyes danced with amusement, he sipped at his coffee. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Hiddleston, that despite my modest taste in beverages and baked goods I am not a cheap date.” You teased. Tom laughed, the familiar ‘eh-eh-eh’ echoing through the car. He brought his hand behind his head, toying with the russet colored curls on his head. “You drive a hard bargain, y/n. I’ll have to think of something spectacular then. Luke told me to make sure you have some fun and don’t work the whole time we’re in Las Vegas.”

             “Have you ever been to Vegas?” You asked, trying to change the line of conversation because you fully intended to work this whole trip. “Never. I am looking forward to it though. I’ve heard it’s unlike anywhere else in the world.” As the airport came into view, you pulled the itinerary out of your work bag. “Luke made sure Comic-Con Las Vegas spare no expense for us on their maiden voyage. We’re staying at the Four Seasons there. I had no idea there was even a Four Seasons there.” You scanned the rest of the reservation as you waited to offload behind the numerous other cars. What you expected to see was two rooms, what you read was a suite. A very expensive suite. You cursed under your breath, and Tom turned to glance at you. “Alright?”

             “I think Luke messed up our reservation. He booked a suite, I can call and change it though.” You tried to show nothing but confidence, but you were quivering inside. A suite with Tom Hiddleston? That was too good to be true. “It’s correct. Luke and I normally get a suite when we travel. It’s just easier than hunting each other down across the hotel.” You could’ve sworn that Luke had a cheaper room when you were following them on a movie premiere tour. But he was the one in charge, and you would do what he asked. “Are you sure you don’t want your privacy?” He shook his head ‘no’. “It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” Before you could say anything else, the car door opened and the driver handed you both your bags. You moved through hordes of Paparazzi, Tom expertly ignoring them. You were a bit overwhelmed, but tried not to let it show. Luke had always referred to it as running the gauntlet. It certainly felt that way.

             Tom, ever the practical one, had insisted that the two of you fly first class on British Airways, but no private jets. “Despite our adventures together, I feel like I don’t know that much about you.” Tom was making small talk while you waited for take-off. You noticed a few people staring, one or two trying to get pictures with cellphones. “What would you like to know?” The intimacy of the moment wasn’t something you expected, but you didn’t really know what to expect. You’d never done this alone before. You knew Luke and Tom were very close, maybe this was normal in a relationship with one’s manager. “You’re not English, where do you hail from?”

             “I was born and raised in New York City. My father was a doctor, and my mother was a dancer for the New York City ballet. He was taken with her when he saw a performance she was in on a date with another woman. He waited for her at the exit of the building and took her on a date, and the rest was history.” Tom smiled. “Sounds like a fairytale.” You sputtered with uncomfortable laughter. “It was for a time. They divorced when I was young. They were both career driven, and that’s probably where I got it from.”

             “Luke said you dance ballet.” The plane had taken off, the two of you were on your way. The questions didn’t stop. “I did. I danced in a few companies in New York, I moved to England to dance in a few national tours. I was never Prima, I broke an ankle before I could make a name for myself. I still do it for fun, but I was somewhat forced to give up the dream of doing it professionally.” You tilted your leg out, showing off the chunky scar across your ankle. Tom’s eyes widened. “That’s some break.”

             “I have a few rods and plates holding it together. I was forced to look for a desk job, Luke needed a secretary. He gave me a chance when my ego was really deflated and I didn’t feel like I was useful anymore. I had to give up my dream. But he taught me his trade, because he could see I was ambitious and willing to learn. I owe him a great deal.” The conversation came much too easily with him, you felt like you were spilling your guts and crossing a line you shouldn’t cross with the movie star. “Luke is the type of person who see’s potential everywhere. He’s able to see talent and kindness in people who don’t always see it in themselves. He’s put me back together a few times when things got difficult.”

             You had always wondered how difficult fame could be. There had been a time when you coveted it above all else; probably not the level of fame that Tom had acquired—but you had fought to become a prima ballerina your whole life. You’d passed up relationships, and milestones to practice to reach that goal. When it was unreachable because of your health, you felt cheated and your life didn’t have a purpose. Luke had given you back that purpose. You had always (rather foolishly, it seemed) assumed that fame made life easier. But in watching people try to take pictures of him doing nothing but sharing a drink in first class with you knew that was fake. He had more resources, but he didn’t have privacy.

             The two of you chatted the rest of the flight off-and-on, rushed through airports for transfer flights, listened to music and watched movies. As time passed, you became more comfortable with each other. You learned about his childhood, about his desire to become an actor even against the advice of his parents. But eventually, in what would’ve been the early hours of the morning in Las Vegas, the plane touched down. You met your security team, who acquired your bags for the two of you and managed to schedule you from paparazzi when all you really wanted to do was sleep. Tom was patient, waving to a few of them half-heartedly before getting into the car.

             The suite was ready for you when you arrived at the Four Seasons in Las Vegas. The place was trendy, yet eloquent in true Four Seasons fashion. You were escorted to your top floor suite by the manager who stuttered nervously in the presence of Tom. You needed a special key card to take the elevator to your floor. The manager walked the two of you around the suite from the kitchenette, to the master bedroom and the small indoor pool. It seemed surreal to you. Tom thanked the manager, and then the two of you were alone. You stood in front of the window, over-looking the beauty of the Vegas strip lit up beneath you. “This is beautiful.” Even in your sleep deprived state, you could appreciate the beauty of this city and the electricity it produced. It reminded you of New York, it never slept.

             “Yes, it is.” Tom stood beside you, and you saw him side-eyeing you from his spot beside you. You wondered for a moment, if in your sleep deprived state, if you had imagined it. There was no way that Tom Hiddleston, movie star, was interested in a broken ballet dancer turned manager. Thankfully, the two of you were able to sleep in as the Con started later in the day. “I’m off to bed, I’m exhausted. See you tomorrow?” You asked, stepping away from the window and towards your room. Tom nodded. “Goodnight, y/n. Sweet dreams.” He smiled, and wrapped you in a hug that pulled you against his long, lean body. It was a tight hug, you dropped your itinerary in the shock of how intimate the embrace felt.

             You stood there, eyeing him stupidly as he retreated to his rooms. Maybe you weren’t imagining this all. But, if you weren’t, could you even act on it anyway? You were sure there was some unwritten code of conduct somewhere. It took you sometime to fall asleep after tossing and turning, and perhaps some fantasizing of the tall, British man in the room across the suite from you.

      ��        Arriving anywhere with Tom always involved a flurry of activity; there was security, the fans always seemed to know his movements. There was screaming and chaos, and the flashing of cameras from paparazzi. This was your first time escorting him to an event solo, and you had completely under-estimated the sheer amount of star power that this new Comic-Con had managed to obtain. There many famous faces there from Marvel, and even other Avengers.

             You awkwardly stood off to the side of the massive room that had become the welcoming area for the celebrities. You lingered with a drink in your hand watching Tom mingle with his ‘friends’ as you thought it’d be strange to hang on his arm like a date. This clearly was not a date. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the handsome man sliding up next to you. “Let me guess, talent agent?” The man asked, and you nearly dropped the martini glass you were holding you all six foot of Chris Evans smiled down at you. “Yes. I’m Y/f/n Y/l/n. I work for Luke Windsor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Evans.” Naturally, you were a little star struck though you’d never admit it. “You’re here with Tom then.” He tilted his head towards where Tom was laughing with hysterically at something some beautiful blonde movie star had said. You felt jealousy blooming in your chest, and you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t yours and as a professional you should have these feelings about a client.

             “I’m just trying to make a career for myself.” You shrugged, taking a drink of your Martini. You noticed Chris was wearing a Patriots hat, and you began chatting with him about Football. It felt good to talk about American football with someone. He gestured you over to the bar, he got a beer and you refilled your martini as the two of you engaged about the beauty of the East Coast. He was easy to speak with, he didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or less than because you weren’t a movie star. Eventually, the staff showed up and started calling people in for their panels. Chris was one of the first on the list, and you noticed Tom approaching the two of you with his brows drawn together out of curiosity. “I really enjoyed getting to know you, Y/n. If you’re not busy tonight, maybe we could have another drink?” He offered you a napkin, and when you unfolded it, his number was written on the inside.

             “Sure, I uh- can’t really say with my schedule but I’ll try.” You smiled, sliding it into your pocket. Chris winked, disappearing out of the room and leaving you to face a very stunned looking Tom. “What was that all about?” Tom asked, his voice a bit quieter than normal, but also more forced. “I think Captain America was trying to get in my knickers.” You chuckled. Perhaps because of the alcohol you were amused by your own humor, but Tom was not. “And were you planning on meeting him?” You shrugged. “I’m not sure. He seemed nice enough.”

             “You’re supposed to be here working, not flirting with movie stars.” It was a sneer. The words stung you, especially given he had abandoned you to go flirt with movie stars himself. “I am working. It’s called Networking. I am Luke’s assistant, and eventually I’m going to have to have a client base for myself. Don’t tell me how to do my job.” Tom shook his head. “Whoring yourself out for clients isn’t how this industry works.” You set your glass down on the bar with a slam, walking away from Tom before you said or did something unprofessional. Tom knew right away he had crossed the line. He moved after you. “Wait, Y/n! I’m sorry! That was totally uncalled for, I’m an ass-“ You walked towards the restroom, trying to slam the door on him as you stepped into the nicest ladies restroom you’d ever seen. Plush, with couches and perfumes and fancy towels. But you weren’t alone, Tom followed you in there.

             “Are you out of your mind, Tom?! Get out, this is the ladies restroom!” He was pale, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry.” You cut him off, moving to stand toe-to-toe with him. “I don’t understand you! You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met one minute bringing me breakfast every morning and then the next minute you’re calling me a whore! My God, you’re so-“ You couldn’t finish, his lips were on yours and you were suddenly pushed up against the sink by his lean body. His hands cupped your waist as his lips moved against yours. You were breathless, goose flesh rising over your body as you relaxed into his arms which had moved to tightly encircle you. Your fingers brushed up his arms, tangling in his russet colored curls. Your brain had slammed to halt, all you could think about was how good he smelled.

             “Jealous. I am so jealous.” Tom finished for you when he released your kiss swollen lips. Your anger turned to passion, when you were no longer breathless you kissed him again. Your whole body went pins and needles, he boosted you up onto the sink, and your legs spread as he stepped between them. His lips moved from yours, across your jaw, down to your neck.  His hands moved to cup your breast under the thin camisole you wore and you moaned at his ministrations. “Tom.” You whispered, and he hummed in response. “You’re going to miss your panel. Luke will kill us both.” He glanced down at his watch and cursed. “Meet me back at our suite? It seems we need to talk.” You nodded, and he helped you slide off the sink and back onto your feet.

             “I don’t have to go out there and fight Chris for your affections, do I?” Tom asked, the two of you sneaking out of the women’s restroom when the coast was clear. “No, I’ve always had more of a thing for Villains, anyway.”

              You waited on the couch in the sitting room of your suite at the Four Seasons, and you watched the sunset over Las Vegas with a Manhattan in hand. It wasn’t the first one you’d made that evening while waiting for Tom to return from the Comic-Con. No one who knew you would’ve assumed you needed liquid courage for anything. But you did for this. Your hands traced over your lips, your eyes closed as you thought about that kiss. Minutes felt like hours, so much had been left unspoken.

               The lights had risen over the Vegas strip by the time Tom returned, you heard the door open behind you and spun around to find him kicking off his shoes. He looked relieved to see you there. “I- was afraid I frightened you enough that you bought a plane ticket back to London without me.” He sat by you on the sofa, an uncomfortable silence falling between you. “When did you start to see me like that?” You finally asked, and Tom sighed as he pulled his hands through his hair in his nervousness, you were hyper aware of his movements. Everything about him seemed to ooze sexuality.

            “You started shadowing Luke shortly before Ragnarok, he invited you on the press tour with us. October 15th, you came downstairs in a dark blue evening gown with Luke when we were getting ready to leave the hotel. You were stunning, you seemed to float when you moved. You made it seem so effortless, if you were scared of your first premiere, I never would’ve guessed it. I spoke to you the first time that night, you blushed and laughed a lot. But I was smitten. I had the urge to find ways to see you, so I would bring you breakfast. I’d remind Luke to invite you to things so you got the ‘experience’. Your intensity for your career made me second guess pursuing you. But I can’t stay away anymore, y/n.”

            His long fingers moved to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your whole body felt like it was on pins and needles, you had butterflies in your stomach. You had never experienced this sensation with any other man. You met his eyes. “If you don’t want me, tell me now. I will let you go on about your career without influence of interference. But if you have the slightest inclination that this could work, please-“ Tom couldn’t finish his sentence, your lips were on his. Your hands gripped the expensive button down he wore and tore it open as the buttons hit the rug beneath the two of you. Tom tangled his hands in your hair, holding your body against his as the two of you tried to devour one another. You had moved across his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist.

            Your hands moved over the lean muscle of his stomach, his chest. Tom moaned into your mouth when your hand moved lower and removed his belt, and pulled down his zipper to palm him through his boxers. You owed a great deal of your courage to your liquid courage, but also the desire that been building in you for hours while you waited for him. The anger that stirred in you when you thought about him flirting with those other women at the convention. Tom lay back on the sofa, allowing you to slide him out of his pants as you tossed them through somewhere in the living area. You worked your way across his chest with your stomach. Then you moved lower, sliding his underwear down his legs and wrapping your tongue around his length. He gasped when you adjusted to the sheer length of him, gradually taking more and more of him into your mouth, moving faster and faster. You reached your hand between your legs, you were already dripping wet.

           His hips moved upwards, and you almost choked on his impressive length. Tom was panting, trying to control himself. “I need you, y/n. I need to be inside you.” He caught you by the waist, bending you over the back of the black leather couch. His fingers toyed with your clit, and you cried out in pleasure. His fingers slid inside of you easily, and you saw the reflection of him licking his fingers in a near-by mirror. “You’re perfect, and you’re mine.” He growled, more animal than man. He pushed himself inside you, one hand on your waist as the other toyed in the ends of your hair and pulled your head back. His thrust were perfect, hitting you ever so perfectly right where you needed him to be.

         “Tom.” You purred out. You feel yourself climbing to your climax as his thrusts increased and his rhythm seemed to break. You knew he was close. “Tom, please!” You begged, catching another glance at the two of you in the mirror. Your lips were kiss swollen, your hair and eyes wild as he pound into you from behind. His sheer strength slid the couch every time he thrust into you. “You’re perfect, Darling. Come for me. Come now!” He reached around to tap your clit in rhythm with his thrust, and you came at the same time. You screamed out his name, not caring who heard you when you did so. Tom settled a moment. You were so tired you struggled to move from the couch where you were hunched over it. Or at least until Tom lifted you into his arms like a bride carrying his groom across the threshold. He carried you to his bed, pulling back the covers before setting you down and allowing you to slide inside them.

        He crawled in, rolling on his side to face you. “Get some sleep, love. We’ll go out and celebrate your birthday later tonight.” He whispered with a soft smile, brushing a few sweaty strands of hair from your face. You were asleep in moments, but you were a light sleeper. When you rolled again, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against his body, burying his face in the crook of your neck and placing a kiss there before falling asleep.

 It was a birthday you were sure you’d never forget.

             The two of you drank, you gambled, you danced the night away at one of the hottest clubs in Las Vegas. Shot after shot, drink after drink; it seemed to never end until the early hours of the morning. The last time you’d been black out drunk was in college, you groaned as you rolled over in Tom’s bed. He was still sleeping peacefully, the blackout curtains in the room were fantastic. You could barely tell it was nearly noon there. You tip-toed over clothes and shoes thrown about in an attempt to make love after all the evening’s activities.

             But then you noticed a sash lying on the floor near the dress you’d chosen that evening. You lifted it the gold, gaudy thing and saw ‘JUST MARRIED’ written across it in silver letters. At first, you wondered if it was something you acquired from a bachelorette party or something of the sort as the two of you had come across numerous different parties that night. But then your phone vibrated. You moved to the night stand, and sitting next to your phone was a silver band dusted with diamonds. That wasn’t something someone would give up like a sash. The events started to flood back into your mind. You searched for Tom’s left hand, he groaned as you lifted it into the dim light of the room and saw a matching silver band. “Oh shit. Oh God, Luke is going to murder me.”

             You had spoken prophecy, your phone lit up and saw the text message from Luke. He’d sent you an article with colorful photos of your drunken evening with Tom. Candid’s of your wedding photos at a little chapel in Vegas. You both were excited, smiling stupidly at pointing at your rings. After nearly hyperventilating, you finally found the courage to look at Luke’s text message. It was simple: What did you two do?!

             Tom yawned, stretching out his arms and spinning around to find you sitting with your arms wrapped around your knees, pushed up against your chest and two shades paler than normal. “What’s wrong, love?” Tom asked, pulling himself into a sitting position. “Tom, Luke is going to kill me.” You practically sobbed. He chuckled, setting a hand on your shoulder. “For sleeping with me? He doesn’t have to know until we’re ready to tell him, love. It’ll be alright.” You shook your head, trying to find the words, they were stuck in your throat. What if he regret the decision? What if he was mad at you for letting him get so sloppy drunk he married his agents assistant. “Tom, we got married last night at the Little White Wedding Chapel. The press got a hold of it.”  

Please consider supporting the starving artist/social worker if you’re able. :)

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.) 

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

   To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

   They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.  

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

   And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

   If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.  

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

   To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to…  Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

   I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway: 

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.   

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway: 

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

   Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

   Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway: 

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway: 

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.  

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

   If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

   (play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

 With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

   I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[hellapainyo]

Seventeen Secret Santa 2019

@queerjunhui I hope you love your gift!! - sss ⭐️

Jun hadn’t planned on spending six hours at the coffee shop. He also hadn’t planned on the snow piling high against the entrance. Most of all, he hadn’t planned on seeing her this day. 

They’d gone to school together back in Shenzhen, during middle school and high school. They’d been dance partners for The Nutcracker when their dance program ran it through the holidays. They’d been granted the privilege to perform The Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy, a highly skilled dance that they were surely underprepared for, but excited nonetheless. In the pit of his stomach, that excitement grew into something much much worse that probably had something to do with the probably fine, but now that I think about it, definitely not fine yogurt he’d had for breakfast. Before he knew it, he lifted her for the pinnacle of the dance, and vomited all over the back of her costume, which of course they didn’t have an extra of, so she had to keep dancing the rest of the show in a yogurt and bile stained tutu. He didn’t know how to apologize and she refused to let him talk to her, so he said nothing, and left everything behind the following year when he signed with Pledis Entertainment. He debuted and never looked back, except to remind his other members that he was sensitive to dairy and that’s why he could never eat yogurt in the mornings. 

So when he walked into the new coffee shop on the corner of the block his dorm was on, he was surprised to see her, smiling, speaking Korean so fluently, and definitely not in China anymore. He knew she had plans to get a degree in business and that she was hoping to get out of China to do it, but he expected her to go to Europe or The States, but certainly not Korea. In her case, it only made sense. After her mom passed away, her dad tried anything he could to find a solid job that would ensure her going to college where she could flourish. He’d spent long hours studying Korean with her so that he could apply for a job in Seoul where the market was booming. She’d learned by proxy, and found herself applying to Yonsei University and pursuing a double major in Applied Statistics and Economics on a ballet scholarship. Despite being vomited on, she was still the best ballerina Shenzhen had ever seen, and the recruiters knew it. That being said, while her dad worked in the gourmet food industry, she worked at the cheap coffee shop that was known for its fast wifi and chocolate chip cookies, which were once her mother’s recipe. She had baked them for the first time as a momento on her mother’s birthday and brought them to work. She never thought they were anything special until her boss tried one and instantly wanted to put them on the menu. She thought it was apropos to include four different chips and some caramel, but according to everyone around her, they were the best.

After closing the cash drawer and giving the change to the young child who had asked for two peppermint hot cocoas for his parents, she smiled down at him, and smoothed out her apron as he trotted over to the waiting section of the coffee bar. She turned to the fridge and pulled out the milk to steam and began the double boiler for the chocolates and peppermint candy melts. She always loved hearing kids get excited over the complexity of the instruments used for something as simple as a hot chocolate. Smiling to herself, she glanced in the mirror behind the register to see a face she never expected, nor wanted, to see ever again. She remembered hearing his mom tell her mom about him getting accepted into some training program, but between her being pissed about the yogurt and the tutu, and watching her mom deal with the sickness, she never really cared about what happened to Jun. She was far too focused on herself, her father, and her little brother, who was just two when Mom passed. It wasn’t easy, but she felt like she was managing well enough to make Mom proud. 

He looked like he was ready to bolt, but he absolutely needed to get out of the dorm and get some personal time, even if it did force him into the cafe where his dance partner turned frenemy worked. He was working on the lyrics to Seventeen’s first Chinese single and he wanted it to be a sweet ode to the fans where he could thank them for the undying support they give to Seventeen that made his dreams a reality. He’s always felt like he’s owed it to the fans, but he’s never been able to express it to them very well, at least in Korean, so now that he was writing in Mandarin, he would be able to do so. With a lot of passion, and not enough cash to go anywhere else for a coffee and quiet time, he walked up to the counter. 

She saw him contemplate his life choices and slowly meander towards the counter. She couldn’t help but feel a warm slickness on her lower back, which was just anxious sweat, but reminded her too much of the yogurt. 

Feigning ignorance, she put on her best fake smile, twirling on her heel, and saying, “What can I get you today? Today’s specials are the Caramel Toffee Espresso and the Gingerbread… Yogurt Parfait.” How had she not realized how surrounded by yogurt she really was? Hearing it come out of her mouth felt like a nightmare come true. Again. 

She wasn’t initially sure he recognized her but his pained expression said it all. “I’ll just get the Caramel Toffee Espresso,” he said while raking his hands through his hair. As if this could get any more awkward. 

“That will be $4.50.” He handed over exact change as to make the conversation end. She printed the receipt, handed it over, and began assembling the finished hot chocolates for the boy from before. Jun took a seat next to the boy. 

“You really should try the yogurt parfait, Mister. They use the thick kind and it’s nice and tasty, right, Miss Y/N?” She hummed a strange noise, that could be taken as both a warning and agreement, depending on if you were Jun or the boy.

“Oh I really don’t get along with yogurt,” was all Jun said. She scoffed and the boy just looked at him with a confused expression.

“You have the no toes toddler rinse?”

“Sure.”

“Here’s your hot cocoas. Don’t tell your mom but I threw in a cakepop on the house for you to enjoy on the way home,” Y/N said, with a soft smile on her face as his eyes lit up, gingerly grabbing the drink carrier. “I don’t think either of us get along with yogurt anymore.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, I--” Jun began.

“We’re in our twenties, living polar opposite lives. Don’t act like it matters anymore,” she cut him off. The problem was, it did still matter. To both of them. It was a scarring experience, and with everything going on with her mom, and how close Jun’s mom was to hers, he thought he could have been there for her. He had hoped he could at least been her friend, or more, but at least a friend. His dumb stomach and anxiety had to ruin everything that his teen heart desired. While he loved what he did and he owed his success and daily happiness to the Carats, he always wondered what would have happened if he had eaten Cheerios instead. Would they have joined a travelling ballet together, performing the most complex routines effortlessly? He’d never know since he messed up. All these years later and he still hadn’t processed if he like liked her or just liked her talent and humility. “Here’s that espresso.” 

He carefully took the hot beverage and found a table to lay out his papers. He hadn’t written a song before--only done choreographies--so he was trying really hard to make sure it would be perfect. He laid out his pencils, blank sheet music paper, and notepad, and began to draft out ideas. He’d scribble something, and then cross it out, in succession until he had a growing pile of disappointing lyrics. He was ready to call Woozi in for help and call it quits when he looked up for the first time in 4 hours. 

She never expected him to stay long enough to order, let alone not have his drink to-go and instead stay, working on some kind of project. He looked befuddled the whole time, tongue peeking out on occasion as something worked out, and then a brow furrowing when that same thing no longer worked. She didn’t know what he was working on, but she knew it was important to him and that he didn’t want to mess up. It was the same face he’d had all throughout the rehearsals for The Nutcracker. Until that exact moment, she had been jaded. She thought he did it on purpose to ruin her chances of making it big in dance and to embarrass her, the girl whose mom was already dying. She’d thought he already had everything with Pledis planned out and that he really no longer cared about the art of dancing since he already had a career figured out. She thought that everything he had said to her, all those words of encouragement, was fake. She felt played and manipulated until now when she realized that he was the same as he had always been. He was a hardworking, determined, kind-hearted, warm individual who deserved the chance at redeeming himself. She’d always hoped he was sorry and right when he was ready to apologize, she kept pushing it away. Him away. That’s all she knew how to do until it was always too late. Not this time. 

Before she knew it, the snow had picked up and the wind was shaking some of the older windows. How had Jun not noticed this? He remained the pinnacle of focus on his work until the cafe was empty, but for her and him. He finally looked up from his work, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips before he realized that he had gotten himself snowed in. With his frenemy. Who refused to talk about their past. 

“Hey, can you come shovel us out? Yeah, us. There’s a customer here still. I knew that would speed you up,” she mumbled into a phone before hanging up and coming around to his table. “Looks like we’re snowed in. What are you working on here?”

“Oh it’s really nothing. At least not yet,” he began tentatively. “You know about my group, right?” She nodded. “Well, we’re doing a single for our Chinese Carats and I wanted to write it but I don’t know the first thing about writing music.”

“You don’t even know the first thing about Lactaid, Jun,” she snorted. 

“I’m not intolerant. It was expired,” he defended, a smile finding its way onto his face. 

“So was that tutu by the end of the night.”

“You’re not mad?” 

“Oh trust me, I was. And I stayed mad for a long time and found ways to blame you for every failure in my life. And then I’d keep failing and realized all I had become was a cynic,” she digressed. “It’s okay now, though. Serendipity clearly had its way today. I always wondered if you remembered me.”

“How could I forget the girl I ruined the life of? I really thought I ruined everything,” he sighed, “I mean, I know I ruined this, for sure.” He loosely gestured between them.

“This? We were something?” 

“I’d hoped we would be. But then I messed up and had to yeet myself as far as my dance skills would allow me to.” 

“That’s a sad excuse for never asking me to the senior dance.”

“I thought you’d kill me, or worse, break my legs.” 

“There was enough death that year, Jun.”

“Oh, right, sorry to--”

“So I would have been forced to break your legs. I don’t make the rules,” she giggled. 

He rolled his eyes, “Of course, of course. What else could have been done?”

“There wouldn’t have been any viable options. How about you say we try out the parfait and see who can hold out the longest without throwing it up?” she suggested, walking back over to the coffee bar.

“It was just the one time!”

“Yeah, all over me!”

[searchingwardrobes]

What’s My Age Again?

It’s @xhookswenchx ‘s birthday everyone! She is a talented writer and an overall wonderful person. She wrote several of my all-time favorite fics, and is currently my beta for Priceless in my romcom series (sorry it’s been so long since I sent you anything!) When that fic got some backlash, she was a huge encouragement. I wish her all the best on her birthday and every day! She writes family fics so well, that I decided to gift her with some CS family fluff and humor. This story is based on my own misadventures with my kids and our minivan, as well as this ask thread about Killian’s adaptability in this realm and the likelihood that he reads owner’s manuals cover to cover. The title is taken from the song by Blink 182, but unlike the rest of the stories in this series, this fic has nothing to do with the actual song. It’s really the exact opposite of that song, so let’s just say I was being ironic.

Summary: Captain Hook never imagined he would captain a decrepit vessel or have trouble keeping a crew in line. Until he became a father. Or Killian Jones vs. the family minivan.

Words: 4,000

Rating: G

Trigger warning: Well, I don’t write parenthood as strictly fluffy and cute. Killian gets irritated with his kids, he makes mistakes, the little buggers drive him crazy, but he still loves them in the end. So if you think life with kids is nothing but sunshine and rainbows and will get pissed at me if Killian is anything but adoring 24/7, then skip this story.

Can also be read on Ao3. Part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist. 

Set in the universe of Shopping With the Captain, but with no shopping. Can be read on its own.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @let-it-raines @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @profdanglaisstuff @captainsjedi

Killian Jones had lived many long years, hundreds of years, on a ship at sea with uncouth, dirty men. Yet he had managed to keep said ship in beautiful condition and said crew in line. So how in the world had he been defeated by a mini-van and three small children?

They bought the mini-van when Ian was only a few weeks old. He and his older sister were what this realm called “Irish twins.” In other words, Ian had been a complete, unplanned surprise who arrived one month before his big sister’s first birthday. The little lad came home to nothing but a pack and play in the master bedroom, carried up the porch steps in his sister’s pink baby carrier. They had gotten rid of everything from Evan’s infancy, deciding that one boy and one girl was enough. And then, surprise!

Killian couldn’t decide what, exactly, caused the mini-van to descend so rapidly into squalor. It could have been the sheer exhaustion of having three kids under the age of four, two of them under two. There was a span of two years that went by in a blur of sleepless nights, diapers, and a double stroller, so keeping the van clean definitely could have fallen by the wayside. Or it could have been Emma’s somewhat messy habits. Or it could have been the fact that Evan sat alone in the very back seat – an area they had come to dub “the black hole.”

Yet it wasn’t just the mess. One at a time, things started to break. Killian knew what to blame that on – the cheap material called plastic that this realm seemed to prefer. First it was the button that opened the gas cap. Now every time they had to fill up the tank, they were forced to walk to the back of the van, open the lift gate, slide open an access panel, and gently pull a wire. Gently being vitally important lest you snap said wire.

Then it was the handle on the right back door. One day, Evan pulled on it, and it just snapped. You could slide the door open or shut from the inside, but not the outside. Then the sound system started shorting out. They would be driving down the road when the radio would suddenly start screeching like an angry dragon. He and Emma had figured out if they pounded on the dashboard hard enough, it would stop. But it was all simple, unimportant things. The van drove just fine, and when they found out how much all the tiny little broken things would cost to fix, he and Emma both decided it wasn’t worth it.

“We can look up a video on You Tube and fix it ourselves,” Emma said, and Killian agreed. It was quite remarkable, really, the things a man could learn on that magic box. They had managed to fix their clothes dryer, oven, and ice maker with its assistance, surely the van would be no different. Only finding the time to do it was the issue. Between ballet lessons, baseball practice, school, and work, they just never got around to fixing the myriad of little things wrong with the mini-van.

Which was fine. Mostly. But Killian Jones had been Captain of the finest ship in the realms. He had kept it fine order, all spit and polish. Every single time he reached for that broken handle or pounded his fist on the dashboard, he felt shame, as ridiculous as it sounded. He winced every time his kids tumbled from the mini-van sending empty chip bags and to-go cups from Granny’s falling to the ground.

The cracked windshield is what started to nudge him towards the proverbial edge. He noticed it when he was herding the kids into the van one Saturday morning. The boys had outgrown their baseball cleats, and Storybrooke didn’t have a sporting goods store. Emma wasn’t feeling well, so Killian offered to get all three munchkins out of her hair for the morning. His jaw dropped when he saw the crack running all the way down the middle of the windshield.

“Bloody hell!”

“It wasn’t me!” all three kids blurted out simultaneously.

Killian swiveled to face them, his eyes narrowed. “Now why would you feel the need to immediately point that out?”

All three responded according to type. Evan, the ten-year-old, crossed his arms and quirked a brow in defiance. Briar Rose, the seven-year-old, stuck out her trembling lower lip, her big green eyes already swimming with fat tears. Ian, the six-year-old, ducked his head so low, his nose was practically touching his chest.

“The boys stepped on it, Daddy,” Briar Rose told him in a wobbly voice.

Evan turned on her immediately. “Only to get your stupid My Little Pony off the roof!”

Killian held up his hand to silence them. “Okay, back up. What happened? Start at the beginning,” Evan and Briar Rose started shouting over each other, and Killian sliced his hand through the air. “Stop! Briar Rose, cygnet, what happened?”

“You always take her side!” Evan shouted. Killian glared at him, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I was playing superhero ponies with Ian, and we were making them fly. Then Evan said Pinkie Pie was a stupid pony -”

“- I did not!”

“You did to!”

Killian rubbed his forehead wearily. “The window?”

“Evan threw Pinkie Pie super hard,” Ian piped up.

Killian cocked his head. “That shouldn’t have cracked the window.”

Briar Rose shook her head solemnly. “No. The rock did that.”

“No,” Evan argued, “the rock made the tiny one. Ian’s foot made the crack.”

“You climbed too!” Ian shouted, shoving his big brother, and soon the boys were rolling on the grass.

Killian pulled them apart. “That’s enough! I think I got the gist of the story. Just . . . “ he sighed, “get in the van.”

Yes, driving for an hour into the next town over while staring at that crack set Killian on edge. But it was that stupid broken back door that would finally make him snap.

***************************************************

Going shopping with the kids was never Killian’s favorite past time, shoe shopping least of all. But getting the cleats ended up being less of a headache than he anticipated. Knowing that Emma wasn’t feeling so well, he took the kids over to a nearby park with a playground for a picnic lunch. The stress over his quickly deteriorating vessel ebbed under the warm sun and spring breeze. And despite their mischievousness, he adored his children. Getting to have this time with them was precious, especially when he thought how quickly the years were flying by. Evan was in the double digits now and increasingly independent. Briar Rose was still small enough for him to carry, though he was always surprised at how gangly her arms and legs had become. And Ian, their baby, overnight had seemed to lose the baby fat in his cheeks.

He was surprised to see that it was past four o’clock and knew that they needed to get home before dinner. Naturally, the kids didn’t want to leave, and pulling them away from the playground was ten times harder than dragging his old crew out of a tavern.

Perhaps he had lost his touch.

They dragged their feet all the way to the van, and even when they were inside continued to test his patience. Killian had already buckled and was inserting his key in the ignition when he glanced back to see the sliding back door still wide open.

“How many times do I have to tell you three to close the door behind you?”

An argument ensued over who was the last one in. Naturally. Killian sighed.

“Fine,” he muttered, unbuckling his seat belt and getting out of. He reached for the back seat’s one functioning handle, but before he could slide the door closed, a wasp flew in.

Briar Rose screamed as if she were being devoured by a kraken. Ian panicked, flailing his arms and legs. Evan started throwing toys, trash, shoes, and a myriad of other items from the black hole at the wasp. This of course made Briar Rose yell at him to stop making it mad. The wasp came to rest on the window right by Briar Rose’s head. She screamed at the top of her lungs, yet the wasp didn’t move. Killian hit the button to lower the window, but the windows on the sliding doors only went halfway down, and the wasp seemed in no hurry to leave the mini-van. Briar rose yanked at the door handle frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. She started to cry.

If there was one thing in the world that Killian would move heaven and earth for it was to stop his little girl’s tears. He darted around the mini-van and without hesitation, reached through the window and flicked at the wasp with his hook.

It decided to land on the appendage. “Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, flicking his hook to get it off. It finally did, but not before stinging Killian’s good hand. He muttered obscenities as he shook the bugger off.

“Words, Daddy,” Briar Rose admonished.

“Words are allowed when stung by a wasp, darling,” Killian said before shutting the open door that had started the whole thing and climbing behind the wheel. He started the car, and immediately it was filled with an irritating electronic dinging. Killian muttered at the screen behind the wheel. A door was open. Grumbling, he marched all around the van, shutting every door. Still the dinging.

“I think it’s my door, Daddy,” Briar Rose said.

He groaned. Great, the broken door. He went around and tried to use the broken handle, to no avail. He climbed in the back seat, his centuries old joints creaking and protesting, and tried to slide it open from the inside. It wouldn’t budge. Yet Briar Rose was right – some how she had managed to open the door the tiniest crack, and now it wouldn’t slide back

“We’ll just have to deal with that infernal noise until we can get it to a mechanic.”

Protests rose from the back seat.

“But it’s so annoying!”

“Fix it, Daddy!”

“Why can’t you turn it off?”

“Because you three won’t take care of this van, that’s why!” Killian thundered, his patience finally snapping. “And you won’t shut the damn door behind you when you get in even though I’ve told you a thousand times! None of this would have happened if you’d just listen to me for once!”

Silence descended on the van. Evan slumped down so low in the back seat, Killian couldn’t see him in the rearview mirror. Ian ducked his head to his chin, his blonde hair hiding his face. Briar Rose curled up in a ball, her chin trembling. Killian clenched his jaw, guilt warring with his irritation as he pulled out of the parking lot. The dinging sound mercifully stopped when he got to a red light. That’s when he heard a worse sound – Briar Rose crying. He turned his head to look back at his baby girl. Huge tears were rolling down her cheeks. The guilt won.

“I am so sorry for yelling like that, little love,” he told her gently. “Please, please forgive me?”

Briar Rose managed a half smile as she sniffled and nodded her head.

“Really,” Killian repeated, addressing all three children, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that. I love you all, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” they all chorused.

The kids still weren’t their normal, exuberant, chatty selves as they went on their way. It may have had more to do with the continual beeping than his temper, however. It had only ceased at the red light, Killian discovered, because the van was no longer in motion. The longer the beeping went, the more Killian’s head throbbed. He found himself wishing fervently for red lights, yet all that would do was prolong the trip home.

“I can’t take it anymore!” Evan cried out.

“Me either,” Ian whined.

“Can’t you stop it Daddy?” Briar Rose begged in what Emma called her Daddy’s girl voice.

“I really can’t.” Killian had read the owner’s manual cover to cover when they first got the van. He had read all about the doors, their safety features, and how to use the child lock system. There hadn’t been anything about how to stop the infernal beeping if the door wouldn’t shut.

Killian turned up the radio as loud as he could, trying to drown out the beeping. That only gave him a bigger headache. Then his hand started to throb, and he looked down to see that the wasp sting had swollen to the size of a grape. He squeezed his hand to find that his fingers were getting stiff. His headache moved from the front of his forehead and spread all the way to the base of his skull. Was there a red light soon? No, just miles and miles of Maine country highway all the way to bloody Storybrooke.

And that’s when he snapped. The beeping, his pounding head, his throbbing hand, his three children who had now taken up another chorus of whining. And he lost it plain and simple, leveling his fury on the computer panel above the steering wheel. With a loud shout, he plunged his hook right through the speedometer, and with a shower of sparks the beeping finally stopped.

There was a beat of blessed silence.

“That. Was. AWESOME DAD!!!” Evan shouted.

“You murdered the van,” Ian whispered in awe.

Briar Rose’s jaw dropped as her eyes grew wide. “Daddy, what will Mommy say?”

“I didn’t murder the van,” Killian argued, “it’s a machine.”

Ian’s lower lip quivered. “BB-8 is a machine. Would you stab him with your hook too?”

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered. Were they home yet?

Killian was surprised to see Emma sitting on the front porch swing when they got home. She rose to greet them at the front walk with a smile that looked weary. She looked like she still wasn’t feeling well.

The kids tumbled out of the van like desperate sailors on shore leave, as usual. They were chattering a mile a minute at their mother before Killian could even get out of the van.

“Daddy killed the van!”

“Sparks went everyone!”

“It was awesome!”

Emma’s eyebrows rose as she turned to him. “You did what?”

“I can explain Swan,” he began, raising his hand and his hook in supplication.

“Oh my God, what happened to your hand?” Emma exclaimed, grabbing him by the arm so she could look at the wasp sting. Now his entire hand had puffed up like a balloon.

“Well, that’s how it all started -”

“What happened to the van?” she screeched, cutting him off. She dropped his arm and leaned into the driver’s seat.

“A wasp tried to kill us, so then Daddy killed the van,” Briar Rose piped up, as if that were the clearest explanation in the world.

“There’s a hole in the computer screen, Killian,” Emma turned to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “You plunged your hook into our mini-van!”

“It was the only way I could stop the beeping! There was a wasp, and we were trying to get it out, and you know how that one door is broken, and then the beeping -”

“Killian Jones, how old are you!”

He didn’t understand why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t as if the van weren’t falling apart already. “Three hundred and twenty, give or take, but what the bloody hell does that have to do with anything?”

“I just think you could be an adult, for God’s sake and control your temper! Especially around our children!”

She shoved past him and stomped her way up the porch steps and into the house. Killian glanced down at Evan, who shrugged.

“Women,” the ten-year-old said sagely.

“And how old are you? Ten going on thirty?” Killian asked wryly as he playfully nudged his son’s shoulder. “Why don’t you three play out here for a little while? I need to talk to your mother.”

Killian opened the door gently, softly calling out Emma’s name. He found her sitting on the bottom of the stairs with her head in her hands. When she heard him call her name, she looked up, and he saw tears had stained her cheeks.

“Emma, I’m sorry about the van. You’re right, I lost my temper. I yelled at the children too, which makes me feel even worse.” He chuckled as he ran his swollen fingers through his hair. “After over three centuries, I think I’m finally feeling my age.”

“You mean you think you’re too old for all of this?” Emma asked in a small voice.

He tilted his head as he studied her, still unable to read what was going on in her head. “If you’re asking if I have regrets, then absolutely not. I wouldn’t trade you or the kids for one second. Although my old bones did creak when I was crawling through that back seat today.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Emma cried, leaping to her feet. “I’m feeling my bones creak too, you know.” And after that proclamation, she turned and fled up the stairs.

He rubbed wearily at his forehead. His headache was back.

*****************************************************

Since Emma clearly wasn’t feeling like herself, Killian had walked to Granny’s with the kids to pick up dinner. When they got back, even grilled cheese and onion rings couldn’t lure her from the master bathroom. She said she was soaking in the tub, but Killian had known her long enough to hear tears in her voice, even when she tried valiantly to hide it.

“Are you worried about Mommy?” Briar Rose asked after swallowing a bite of her onion rings.

“Why do you ask that, cygnet?”

“Because you’re playing with your food,” she said matter-of-factly. He frowned as he looked down at his lasagna and ceasar salad. He’d barely taken three bites. He looked up at his children, who were watching him intently. They were far too perceptive; it was in their genes.

“Is Mommy mad that we made you kill the van?” Ian asked, his brow furrowed seriously.

“Oh no, lad,” Killian quickly assured, rubbing his son’s blonde head. He tilted his chin up with his good hand. “And for the record, I did not kill the van.

“Yeah, Ian,” Evan explained in a superior voice. He liked to lecture his younger siblings. “The van doesn’t go on missions like BB-8. You can ask Henry.”

Ian nodded as if that were that. “You can ask Henry” was a common refrain meaning that something was an indisputable fact.

“Your Mommy just doesn’t feel well,” Killian attempted to put the children’s minds at ease, “and sometimes when you don’t feel well, you get upset easily.”

“Like when Briar Rose and Ian were in Mommy’s tummy.”

“Yes, Evan, like . . . “ Killian trailed off, the full realization of his son’s words hitting him. He rose abruptly from the table and turned towards the stairs, but before going up, he dashed over to his oldest and clasped Evan on the shoulder. “How old are you again, son?”

“Ten -”

“- going on thirty.”

When Killian opened their bedroom door, all the lights were off. He could just make out Emma’s form on the bed, curled into the fetal position beneath the covers, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow. He eased down next to her, reaching out to play with the ends of her hair. It was still damp from her bath. He frowned when she remained with her back to him. He swallowed, weighing his words before plunging forward anyway.

“We’re having another baby, aren’t we?” he asked softly.

Emma rolled over then. The last remnants of day clung to the twilight hour, illuminating her tear stained face. He slid down in the bed, opening his arms for her, and she came willingly into his arms.

“I just turned forty, Killian,” she mumbled against his chest. “That means I’ll be fifty-eight when this kid graduates from high school.”

Killian could have pointed out that he had three centuries on her, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Besides, that may be how old he was chronologically, but physically he was only a few years older than Emma.

She sniffled, wiped her nose on his sleeve, and then continued. “Then you come home, and I find out you lost it over our disaster of a mini-van, and I guess I just panicked. I mean, if we can’t handle this mess we’ve got now, how can we handle another kid? Especially a newborn who’s up all night? And diapers, and all the stuff you have to haul around, and – oh my God! - potty training! I suck at potty training, and now I have to go through that hell all over again!”

“And yet our children use the facilities just fine,” Killian chuckled.

Emma rolled over to glare at him, and he knew it was too soon for a joke. “And you – talking about your old bones and shit.”

She pushed at him as if to leave the bed, but he wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn’t put up a fight. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and murmured his words soothingly against her hair.

“I would be lying if I said this news didn’t bring some trepidation with it. But it also brings joy, love.” He pulled away so he could cup her face with his hand. “I was just thinking today as I played with the kids at the park how fast time was going. I thought of how I missed chubby babies asleep against my chest.”

“You do look hot with a baby on your chest,” Emma conceded, giving him a wobbly smile.

“And nothing makes my heart swell with joy quite like watching you carry a child created through our love.” He brushed a chaste kiss to her lips. “And as for the sleepless nights, the diapers, the potty training, and the stuff,we don’t have to do it alone.”

Emma rolled her eyes, even as her smile widened. “I know, we have each other.”

Killian quirked an eyebrow. “Well yes, but I was referring to the three built in babysitters downstairs. We didn’t have three over the age of six the last time.”

Emma’s eyes brightened. “You’re right! I was thinking of the two year blur the last time, but . . . this is different, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, rubbing his thumb across her cheek.

“We have a ten-year-old! He’ll be eleven by the time the baby comes.” Emma frowned. “But is that fair?”

“Course it is,” Killian assured her as he tugged her against his chest. “Evan isn’t ten, he’s ten going on thirty.”

Emma laughed. “He is rather precocious, isn’t he?” She sat up and straddled Killian. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, fiddling with the buttons. “And what about you, old man? How old will you be when this kid graduates from high school?”

“Let me show you love,” he growled, grabbing her hips, “how virile I still am.”

Eight months later, another little girl joined the Jones family. Abigail Jones. Abigail meant “joy” in Hebrew. Both her parents and all three of her siblings thought it was fitting.

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

Winter Rain

I'd like to thank @xerxezra for the encouragement. I really needed it, and to the Enya song in which the title and fic is based on. I'm still working on the fic to go with a fanart of mine, but until then feel free to check out my other fics which can be found on my Fanfic Masterpost or Ao3 links which are in my description under my header.

In this fic the reader deals with a change in plans.

_______________

City streets were passing by, underneath stormy skies. No, there were no neon signs but there were cargo trains rolling by on the tracks parallel to the main road. Hmm, wasn't that an Enya song? Perhaps it was.

Funny that you were thinking of new age songs when none were playing on the radio, though you wouldn't have minded if any music was on; it would've made a difference. Enya's songs in themselves reminded you of that one teacher in elementary school who wore that cherry brooch you liked and drowned herself in a bottle of perfume. Your teacher, whatever her name, was halfway pleasant, but always wore a blouse which was a size too big and thus you always saw more of her then you cared to whenever she leaned over a desk to assist another student. Another Enya song, Only Time, reminded you of that one book you tried to read around that time with the questionable cover. Of course, neither of these things had anything to do with the drive home, but it was a passing nostalgia you couldn't pass up.

Wiry, naked trees were scattered along the way; none of them of much consequence except to the fragments of your imagination, where they were dancers in a wintery, mournful ballet. For his part, Rick was unaware of these random thoughts, for you had not mentioned them, but you did wonder about something else when you took a glance at the time and found you two were getting home a little faster than usual. “Rick, do you prefer driving? Or is flying in your spaceship easier?”

“I-I think each one is great in its own way,” he answered, keeping his eyes on the road. “but th-the fastest way to travel is by using my portal gun.”

“So it is. Hmm, makes me wonder what the Flash would have to say about that.” you commented as rain pitter-pattered against the passenger side window. “I bet he'd have a few things to say if you can catch him.”

“Gee, I don't know. I'll ugh - I'll have to ask him the next time I'm in his Earth dimension.”

Sometimes you didn't know if he was being serious or simply joking, though you tended to believe him, especially since it only added to your natural wonder. Your curiosity was a quality which tickled him immensely, but whether he could withstand it while driving was not something you were about to test. Outside, straight ahead, the roads looked all the same, although, to the discerning eye, one would notice the cracks here and there, and the splattered paint on the curb closest to city hall and the fire station. And while the roads were neither empty or full, you would say they were in want of life and perhaps a good shoveling, but with whatever technology hidden in the nooks and crannies of his station wagon, you two drove on the icy roads with ease. It was cold outside, but you weren't cold; Rick made sure of that by giving you the heated seat and a quilt to drape over yourself.

You were, however slightly bored because Zeta-7 hadn't been talking all that much this evening. He had been in a mood and you thought it could've had something to do with the phone call he received while you two were at the craft shop but he didn't say. It hadn't made him any less sweet, but he seemed distant in a familiar way that you were sure you had experienced some time ago. Perhaps he was fearful, he would have reason; contemplative as always; afraid, to an almost unhealthy degree, but risking a chance to placate him, you joked. “Are you trying something new? Is it a seduction tactic, cause I'm certainly intrigued.”

“Wh-what?” he blushed, as he turned the corner to head towards your street.

“Aren't you trying the broodish thing all cool guys do in those cheap romance novels? You know, the kind they sell at the drugstore?” you giggled, turning up the heat in the car to fit your preference.

“Gosh, n-n-no. I ugh - I-I don't think I'm cool enough t-t-to do that.”

“Really? Well, I think if you wanted to you could, though I doubt you'd try it unless convinced it would work. Not sure how effective it would be on me, but this isn't about me. What's going on with you,” you questioned with a serious, but gentle candor. “you haven't said much tonight.”

“I ugh - I have a few things on my mind is all, but it's going t-to be okay. I'm sorry if I alarmed you.”

“Not too much, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Are you?”

Stopping in front of your home, he admitted with a sudden disheartenment. “I don't know. Sometimes it's - it's hard to know especially if you hear bad news but I th-think I will be. Eventually.”

One of his watches was flashing, and it made you wonder if it meant what you thought it meant. While you couldn't read the line of code which passed over its digital face, you thought you'd seen a similar line of code before. “Are you going to have to go? Is that what's bothering you? I know you promised that we'd paint together tonight, but you won't be able to will you?”

“No, I'm - I'm sorry. I had asked for the whole week off, but this - it's from my supervisor. I can't ignore it. I have to go in. I-I really wish I didn't have to.”

“Oh Rick, if you had to go, why didn't you tell me earlier? I would've understood.”

“You were having such a-a great time picking out supplies that I didn't - I couldn't bring myself to crush your excitement. Now th-that I think about it, I don't know if this was any better, but I-I asked that I'd be able to bring you home first so that I wouldn't have to worry about leaving you there without a-a word.”

Zeta-7 hated to break his promises, and you hated the feeling of a broken promise, but as he switched the car off, and you two walked towards your porch, you admitted. “I would've figured it out and got home somehow. I mean there's enough Uber drivers in this town, and one of them would've driven me home, but I'm glad that at least I had this time with you. Please be careful and visit me whenever. You know you can.”

Instead of comforting him as your easy resignation usually would, he balled his fists and hit them against the railing; hateful of his own inadequacies. You had to admit that when he got upset, it caught you off guard, but it also reminded you that he still was very much a Rick, albeit a softer one. “Th-this wasn't supposed to happen. I-I don't understand why it always comes to this. We were - I had so many things planned out for us and th-”

You hugged him from behind, interrupting what he was going to say. “There will always be next time. Calm down,” you cooed, “it's all going to be okay. It's not the end of the world and I'm not upset by it.”

“But I don't - I don't want t-to keep doing this to you. I promised.”

“I know, but it's not like you do this on purpose. You see, this is what happens when a girl like me dates a guy like you. Expect the unexpected, and maybe a few space worms every once in a while if I eat a sandwich from a gas station on a comet somewhere. These things happen.”

“I wish it - it didn't. Lately,” he confessed, his voice taking on its softer quality. “I've been thinking a-about when I'd like to retire. Maybe I finally should.”

“Whatever you want to do, I'm okay with it. As long as it makes you happy, but only if you do it without regret. You would know best of course.”

“I-I certainly hope so.”

You two stood there in silence for a moment, but you heard a beeping noise emanate from under his sleeve. “I d-don't want to say goodbye, but I'll miss you m-mi corazón.”

When he wasn't around, your home felt emptier,

though you refrained from saying so, and because you didn't want to add to his guilt you simply said. “I'll miss you too.”

“Th-there's a chance I won't see you in a few days. At least it will feel th-that way for me.”

“You can always call me, and if you can't then I'll see you when I see you. You know where I'll be.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “somewhere I-I'm not.”

“Don't say that. You're always on my mind, and I'd like to think you're always with me, in one way or another. There's no way I couldn't think of you.”

He turned around to face you, his eyes appearing twice as expressive through his glasses. Zeta-7 studied you and brushed his thumb across the back of your hand. “Siempre estás c-conmigo, and because of - of that, I'm never truly l-lonely.”

“Oh Rick, I love you.”

As easily as it was to adore him with your entire being, so it was to break his heart. Whether it had been a lack of love or an abundance of heartache in his life thus far which shook him to his bones, a replenishing of spirit was always in order. You weren't tall, you never had been, but stepping on the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss on his cheek that never failed to floor him, and marvel as though it were from a fairy queen; one comprised of stardust and moonbeams. “This means you belong to me. Got it cutie? No one else has dibs except for me, so don't look so surprised. You're mine.”

Like a tease, the weather picked up and the strong gust which followed made you shiver, which alarmed him and prevented his reply. You were trying to tough it out because he could be gone at any moment. And must've sensed this, for against your control you shivered once more, but he pulled off his own scarf to wrap around your neck. “It's going t-t-to get colder,” he said protectively. “so please don't forget to wrap yourself up tonight. I um - I placed a-a few thick blankets in your closet just in case. Why d-don't you go inside?”

“Because I can bear it for a little bit longer. Thank you,” you smiled sweetly up at him, despite losing feeling in your cheeks. “but I doubt I'll try to leave my house for the next few days. I'll look after this for you. Hopefully, it's going to be warmer where you're going.”

“I-I can't say, it's…”

“Classified information.” you finished.

“Gosh, I-I-I guess you know th-the drill by now. Smart girl.”

“Maybe. I don't know much, but I know you, and that you can't tell me certain things because you don't want whichever information to be held against me. At least I'm learning. Either way,” you softened, buttoning the top button on his jacket. “please be careful.”

“I-I will. Can I um - can I-I give you a kiss?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Though of course, he would ask as though your disappointment would disqualify his validity to partake of your affection. He bent down to try to kiss you goodbye, his glasses fogging up at the closeness between you two, but a portal opened right behind him and the guard Rick's on the other side pulled him through. And like that, he was gone again; without a choice; without a goodbye. Your arms which had been around his waist a moment ago, you brought down to rest at your sides, and you too clenched your fists in quick frustration but found yourself halfway exhausted by the cold temperatures and suddenness of it all.

His scarf felt warm and soft about your neck and smelled like him; of vanilla, and of whatever his house smelled like. You thought of the painting that you two would not do tonight, and how you were once again alone. That seemed to magnify it all, intensify the fact that you might've always been alone and destined to remain as such. It used to make you cry when you realized that he could be taken from you at any moment, but you had gotten used to it, or at least you thought you did. Only a few hours ago, you two were at a café, discussing painting techniques and how with a little practice you too could paint that little tree you liked that was growing in the corner of your yard; his enthusiasm was contagious, and you were pumped because you really wanted to show him you had been practicing.

If once again someone cried, then it was you because he couldn't cry where he was going; he wouldn't dare to and repress it for as long as he could help it; if only you were as strong.

Oh, winter rain, how could it relate? It knew little except its natural way; of falling upon the earth; of life; of beginnings; of letting go; of uncertainty. Yet, it wasn't the rains fault; it does not know and could not know; if only. It was cold, and you were cold, with the only part of you that was really warm being where his scarf was.

Thinking of what lied in store for him made you want him back all the more so that you could hold him, and make him feel safe. You wanted him back now because it seemed so unfair that they'd take him when he didn't want to go, but you couldn't bring him back; not even for his sake; being against your power just like the rain. For now, all you could do was only open the front door to your home and step in as the last train passed by; not knowing when the next will come.

Fin

[askcarlyle]

[A contribution (in conjunction with @askbarnum) to FanFicFeb on @theothersidediscord for Prompt #1, "First Meeting". Edited from the live version, which took place on server last night.]

Carlyle

swirls the amber liquid in his glass and looks around the cozy tavern, which is almost packed to capacity with the majority of the troupe in attendance

Thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate our anniversary. If one can even call it that...

from behind the bar, a gruff voice issues -- "I've poured liquid courage at enough first dates to recognize one when I see it, fellas."

...right. As I saying, thank you for being here to mark the occasion of our first meeting...

Barnum

Downs the last half of his finger of whisky and elbows Phillip in the arm as Lettie pours him another

It was a date, not a meeting. We had drinks. I charmed you into coming away with me. Listen to the bartender. I planned that date for days.

Carlyle

frowns and tosses back drink before raising a hand to dispute

A "date" implies previously agreed upon arrangements by both parties. We hadn't ever spoken before that night. We hadn't even been in the same room before that night.

Barnum

Well before we entered the bar we spoke. I asked you if I could buy you a drink and you said yes, that was an agreement. It is the oldest method in the book for requesting someone's company on a date.

pokes another peanut into his mouth before tossing the shell at Fedor playfully. The other man tossing back a whole handful from the ones he was eating.

Drinks, small talk, seduction, then an agreement. You had been making eyes at me since the moment I introduced myself.

Carlyle

snorts and throws another peanut at Barnum

If that's what you call trying not to be blinded by your scarf's loud paisley pattern.

Barnum

frowns teasingly

Hey, that is my favourite scarf. You just don't appreciate real fashion. It is eye catching. Besides, who other than young children dressed by their mothers wears matching scarves and hats?

Sips his drink thoughtfully

I suppose admittedly while it might have taken a few drinks and some charming words to seduce you, you had me wooed much faster. From the moment I spotted you at my daughter's ballet recital.

Carlyle

coughs and puts down drink

Ballet recital? You don't mean that night at the concert hall with my cousin's dance academy...

God, their champagne was weak.

Barnum

Chuckles as he breaks open another peanut, waving a dismissive hand

Yes well, somehow I don't think they were trying to promote the parents and carers getting drunk. It was also 6pm when it finished and during the course of that evening I saw you down twelve glasses. Your mother looked very embarrassed, it was more entertaining to watch than the company I was forced to socialise with.

Carlyle

ducks head at the memory, both in amusement and bemusement

Admittedly, I can't recall much about that night's attendance or who I spoke to. You were really there?

Barnum

Tosses the peanut in his mouth, keeping his eyes on the other with a teasing grin

Of course I was. It was Caroline's first recital, she had the lead in the first and third number. I spotted you at the afterparty, you did rather stick out like a sore thumb. The only man in the place under 35 I'd wager. Took no more than a few moments to figure you out; single man with no kids, you were dressed up too smartly to not have a career and yet it couldn't have been anything extremely well paid because you seemed to be living with your parents. Alcohol problem, and you looked bored.

That is why I knew straight away you would be easy to snatch up as a business partner. Boredom is truly the worst illness a man can fall victim to, he would do anything for a cure.

Carlyle

raises an eyebrow

That sounds thoroughly disreputable when you phrase it like that. So it was a business meeting, you agree. And in turn, I will admit that it was difficult not stare too openly when you introduced yourself later. I'd thought the larger than life persona was only for the stage.

Barnum

That did sound a lot creepier coming from my mouth than I had expected. Perhaps that is enough drink for one evening.

Pushes his glass away with one finger. Turning his full attention to Phil

Whether intentional or not as a romantic affair, it was still very much a date. I was married. Things were complicated.

beams in pride at the comment, leaning back slightly on his stool

I am quite the diamond in the rough of the public. You had your charm too, it's not often that men have a bit of bite to them. You had the snark and attitude of a young me. Admittedly I think I was near as infatuated with you as you were of I by the end of the evening. Perhaps it was the alcohol but the way you danced and those tight trousers had me losing sleep for days afterwards.

Carlyle

glances at glass and puts it back down as well

If every offer of a drink I agreed to in life came with that intent, I would have been called something a lot harsher than scandalous.

considers

I suppose some interesting thoughts might have crossed my mind when you were up on that table. To be candid, I was half tempted to stuff a $5 note down your shirt and ask for an encore.

Barnum

Frowns, creasing his forehead

I am a businessman not a cheap street walker. I would have charged far more than $5 for an encore. Though if you had batted your eyelashes enough I may have offered you a complimentary lap dance.

Carlyle

laughs and leans into Barnum with grin

A paragon of self-respect and generosity! I swoon to consider what showing an ankle might have netted.

Barnum

puts a loving arm around Carlyle and presses a kiss to the top of his head

Do you have any idea how many laces and buckles are on these boots? It would have taken me a good fifteen minutes in that state of alcohol indulgence to have flashed you an ankle. You'd have gotten bored and lost interest before I had gotten through the first knot.

Carlyle

from behind the bar, the voice once again pipes up -- "Fifteen minutes would have been generous. You two fell over and passed out two minutes after shaking hands."

shoots bartender a warning look

I recall we danced for quite a bit after that. Didn't we? It's all a bit fuzzy.

Barnum

Squints thoughtfully

I am sure I distinctly remember getting up on the bar to do a celebratory dance with you. I think I was still quite within my limits. I wouldn't have passed out at the bar.

...Then again I am not sure I entirely remember getting home that evening. What I do remember is my hat smelling like vomit for days despite having no memory of being unwell. Perhaps some of the details of my recollection aren't entirely crystal clear.

Carlyle

bartender continues speaking "Mine are, unfortunately. You still haven't paid me back for getting those carpets cleaned, Barnum. And your friend there was slurring something about how your perfect harmonization during your duet was metatextually symbolic of your future relationship as a whole, whatever that means."

stares at bartender in confusion, then shrugs

Barnum

I am curious enough to want the truth from you and yet hesitant enough to ask whether you would deem it appropriate to share in front of my entire troupe.

Glances at his abandoned glass and makes the decision to pick it up again and down it in one go before locking eyes with the bartender once more

What other things was Mr Carlyle spouting that night?

Carlyle

turns to bartender, wide-eyed and suddenly uncertain

I can buy you much nicer carpets, you know.

Barnum

Beams in teasing excitement, putting a hand before Phillip's chest to push him back into his seat

The carpets will be paid for. Now tell me exactly word for word what Phillip said about me that night. Leave out no details.

Carlyle

New lamps. Gas ones.

Barnum

The bartender rolls his eyes, turning his back on them to keep scrubbing a glass. "You think I remember your interactions word for word? This was a long time ago , boys. I have hundreds of customers come through here, not just the two of you."

He puts down the glass, picking up another one "I remember you deciding on a deal between you both, and paying your tab. Mr Barnum tried to climb up on the bar and fell over the other side, then fell asleep on the floor behind the counter. Mr Carlyle did not seem to notice the disappearance of his friend and continued to talk to the empty seat next to him for a while, goodness knows what it was about. You did call him handsome a few times and it grew into a few less appropriate comments as you downed a last nightcap.

If I remember correctly, you both waltzed on my snooker table once Mr Barnum awoke, made a dreadful mess of my carpets, and the flowerpot I used to have in the corner, and the coat rack, and my only indoor lavatory, and then left. I believe Mr Barnum insisted on taking you back to his home."

Carlyle

scratches head

I do vaguely remember being tucked in, but thought was a dream.

glances around at the troupe, some of whom had been whispering amongst themselves

I'd like to see how precise any of your memories are after that many shots. I was barely able to walk the next day when we visited the circus.

Barnum

-Chuckles to himself cheerfully-

I do remember the next morning clearly enough. Charity woke me up with a bombardment of questions about why I came back at four in the morning carrying an unconscious Phillip Carlyle and put him to bed in the guest room, then passed out myself in the hallway. She was more amused than angry I think.

Refills his glass once more, then gives Phillip a friendly pat on the shoulder

You were on another planet that day. I don't think you took in a single word I said. It was very charming, you seemed to fall head over heels for Miss Wheeler and stumbled around like a bashful fawn all afternoon.

Brings his glass up for a toast

To eventful beginnings. I am so very glad you were seduced into joining me on that first date all that time ago.

Carlyle

holds up glass

To a very auspicious first encounter, and a night that we will never quite remember or forget.

fade to black

[all-hail-the-witcher]

my feet don’t dance like they did with you

ship: race x albert genre: angst ;) warnings: implied breakups and people leaving, also like 3 curse words editing: eh word count: 1560 this is inspired by ghost of you by 5sos ive wanted to write angst based on that song since the first time i heard it _______________________________ The gravity of the situation didn’t hit Albert until he was at rehearsal the following day. The director had paired him with Elmer until she could figure out how to fill the perfectly Race-shaped space in the show. Albert struck the opening pose for the duet, a crouch in the downstage right corner, and Elmer took Races place, a lunge at center stage. The opening notes of the song began and Albert felt his body go on autopilot, completing every leap, jump, and turn with practiced fluidity. That is, until about 32 counts into the piece when he and Elmer stood downstage center. This was the moment where they made eye contact and acknowledged each other for the first time during the piece before doing a complicated lift and turn sequence. Some part of him had known, very deep down, that it would be Elmer’s, not Race’s eyes that he would be meeting. But somehow he was still shocked. Maybe it was the jarring difference of seeing Elmer’s brown eyes as opposed to Races luminous blue ones, or maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t met by Races familiar smell of laundry soap and cheap cologne that caused Alberts brain to short circuit. His dancing become choppy and disjointed. He barely had time to recognize the sudden difference before Elmer morphed into Race and the walls of the studio closed in around them, transporting him back in time to the hallway outside their apartment and the events of the night before. Albert had just ran up the five flights of stairs to their apartment - curse this old building and its lack of an elevator - and had been rummaging around in his dance bag for his keys when he had been greeted by Race exiting the apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind him. “Hey Race,” Albert had called out, abandoning all hope of finding his keys, “going somewhere?” Race had turned abruptly and stiffened slightly at the sound of Albert’s voice, almost like a kid who had gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Albert hadn’t noticed that originally, but now every detail came back to him, screaming that something was terribly wrong. Race had been wearing one of Albert’s old sweatshirts - the big green one he had a penchant for stealing - and a pair of adidas track pants with his sneakers. His big black dance bag had been thrown over his shoulder and he had a navy backpack on. Albert remembered thinking that he must be going to rehearsal. But, if he had pondered that question a little bit longer he would have remembered that Race never had rehearsal on Thursday nights. “Hey, Albert.” Albert, not Albie or Albo or Al: Albert. Race never called him by his actual name. Why hadn’t he picked up on that? “Romeo wanted to rehearse with me tonight for a few hours, not sure when I’ll be back.” His voice sounded fake, scripted, almost. And, of course now, Albert remembered that Romeo was out of town at an audition so there was no way Race was going to meet up with him. “Okay,” Albert remembered saying, hand on the door knob ready to go inside, “I’ll see you later.” Race had turned to walk down the hall, but stopped at the last second. He had turned around, and strode back toward where Albert was standing. Then, without any warning, he threw his arms around Albert’s neck and kissed him softly on the lips. “I love you, Albie,” he had said. “Don’t forget that.” At the time it had all happened so fast, but now the whole scene played back almost slow motion. Albert could see the tear tracks on Races cheeks and the slight tremor in his hand as he ran his fingers absently through his hair. He could see the glint of sadness mixed with regret and hopelessness in his beautiful blue eyes. If only he had seen it then. “I love you too, Tony,” Albert had whispered back, opening the door to their apartment and stepping inside with a small wave at his boyfriend. Race had given him his trademark lopsided smirk before wandering back down the hall. If only he had known that was the last time he would ever see him. Back in reality, Albert could feel Elmer’s hand on his arm as they moved into the partnering section. He couldn’t help but notice that it was smooth, not callused like Races. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong. Elmer caught Albert’s eye for a second. The look he gave him let Albert know he could tell something was off. Albert knew that Elmer would understand if they stopped, but he willed his body to keep moving in time with the music as his brain drifted back to the apartment. Albert had stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of one too many sugared apple candles - courtesy of Race - and thrown his bag on the floor before heading to the kitchen in pursuit of a snack. He had pulled out several bags of chips from the cabinet and was reaching up into the cupboard for a bowl when he had noticed an old pair of Race’s black canvas ballet shoes with holes in the toes laying on the counter. Race was always leaving his things in strange places, so Albert had been about to move them aside when he saw the note. That was when everything had come crashing down. In present time, Albert could feel Elmer spinning him around and around and around and he thought that that was fitting seeing how his head was spinning from remembering the letter Race had left him. Dear Albert, it had said. I’m terribly sorry, but I won’t be coming home tonight. Or tomorrow night, or any night after. You didn’t do anything wrong. Hell, you were the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. But it’s become too much for me. I can’t really put it into words, but I need you to understand that nothing you could have ever said would have changed my mind. Elmer stopped spinning him, and Albert flew into a switch split, but he landed weirdly, a sharp pain running up the inside of his ankle. He winced. He had never had a problem with that jump before. I love you, the note continued. More than I love myself. Which is why I have to go now, when things are good before I screw everything up and we fight and break up the hard and painful way. I’ve been through that too many times Albie, and I don’t want to fight with you. I’m not very good at this love stuff, no one has ever wanted me in that way before, and I can’t fathom that you would be any different, nor do I have the mental capacity to get broken up with again. Albert did a seat roll into a fish flop, but his knees banged the floor painfully. And there was Elmer’s hand, right where Races should have been, pulling him up for the last 8 counts of the dance. I’m leaving you my old ballet shoes. They were what I was wearing the day I met you. Remember that day? It was the first time we ever partnered. It was so magical Albie, we just worked together so well. Everything suddenly made sense the moment we touched. Did you feel that way too? Probably not, I’m being stupid. I knew in that moment I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. But I can’t. So maybe you’ll consider taking these shoes in place of me, or maybe you’ll throw them out, I don’t care. Whatever happens, Albie, never stop dancing. Albert heard the music cut out. He barely registered that he was in his final pose, hugging Elmer, although it should have been Race, it should have been Race, goddamnit. He backed away quickly, like Elmer had burned him. “Are you okay, Albert?” Elmer asked gently. “That run was a little...rough.” “Yeah, I’m okay,” Albert lied, fighting to meet Elmer’s gaze, reminding himself that this was who he had to dance with now because Race wasn’t coming back. Race wasn’t coming back. He was gone, nothing but a mere memory. A memory that would never be brought back. “I’m just not used to dancing with you yet.” Elmer nodded. “Okay, we can work through it. You’re a good dancer, we’ll make it work.” He offered him a smile, which Albert was hesitant to return. “Yeah, okay,” he said, looking down at his feet, which were wearing Races worn out ballet shoes. They were a size too big on him, but he could still see the tips of his toes poking through the holes. He remembered when those shoes had begun to get those holes in them and he’d teased race endlessly for it until he had gotten a new pair. Was the reason he had hung onto them so long because they reminded him of when the first met? He forced down tears as he willed himself to work through the dance with Elmer. He’s not coming back. Race had told him to never stop dancing. Oh, Race, he thought, how is that even possible when my feet don’t dance like they did with you? _______________________________ im kinda low key proud of this ? i love hurting my bois angst is my specialty, so if there’s anything anyone wants to see feel free to hit up the ask box !! feed back is always appreciated !!

[buckyywiththegoodhair]

Good Hair, Better Fics (Best of 2017 Edition)

We made it y’all - the last day of 2017. It somehow feels like this year dragged on for far too long and flew by all at once. Through it all, there were countless fics that made this this year a bearable one. Fics that deserve to be placed in the spotlight alongside authors who deserve all the thanks in the world. 

In order to do just that, I’ve listed a bunch of fics below and decided to include my reactions to each one. This is gonna get long.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Salvation | @marvelingatthewonder​

Amberly, I don’t know if you’re going to see this or not, but I need you to know that I never got over the excellence of this fic. Never. And I don’t thing I ever will. You showed us the relationship between the reader and Bucky not through their words, but through their thoughts and actions. And that moment when Bucky realized someone out there could care about him? I’ll never forget the way my heart sang.

Faithfully | @avengerofyourheart

‘Faithfully’ is a song that owns m heart. It’s one of those songs where, if it comes up on a shuffle, I’m not allowed to skip (not that I’d want to). So, when I saw you wrote a fic based off of the song with Rockstar!Bucky? I was floating on clouds. And I continued to float on those clouds throughout the entirety of this well-written fic with an even better plot. Now when I hear this song, I think of this fic and you.

Cheap Thrills | @avengerofyourheart​​

Gosh. I remember reading this fic and practically dancing in my seat. I had to refrain (probably because I was around people), but when I get too happy to put into words, dancing is my go-to option. That’s what your writing and this wonderfully fun fic did to me. 

New Beginnings | @redgillan​​

The realism of this fic was killer, Maisie. Whenever I think about it, the first thing that comes to mind is “bittersweet”. The second is “what if?”. You gave us the perfect combination of both when hitting ‘Post’, sharing this gift with the rest of us and making the conscious decision not to write a sequel. Happy endings aren’t guaranteed and knowing that the reader and Bucky just missed out on what could’ve been a beautiful relationship alongside the hints that all of the friendships you wrote about don’t make it out unscathed was something tangible. Something I could relate to and i thank you for that.

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) | @cassiopeiassky​

My darling, Cass. In my eyes, this isn’t a Tumblr series. It’s so much more than that. It’s a novel that I’ve been lucky enough to find for free online (even though I’d be more than happy to pay to have this on my shelf). The depth of each and every character you’ve included is impeccable. The emotions you write about are raw and real and I feel them. Whenever I start a new part, I kid you not when I say that my heart starts and stops, clenches and thumps away happily. This is what you and your writing do to me.

Roses | @rotisserierogers​

You broke my heart, Kumi. I’m not sure if you’re aware of that, but you did. Your writing and this fic did that to me. “Is it possible to win a girl’s heart in a day?” I’m convinced that the answer to this is yes because it took approximately 1.3k words for you to win my heart and then proceed to break it.

ocean eyes | @whothehellisbella​

Angelic Isabella, you stunned me with this fic. Not because I was surprised you could write something so beautiful (you do it on the regular), but because of how perfect it was. Finding the right words is never easy, I’m sure every writer is fully aware of that, but you somehow managed. You wrangled the English language as if you were a farmhand and it was a wild horse and you made it bend to your will and calm down under your touch. I don’t know if this makes sense so, if it doesn’t please know this fic meant the world to me. And it really is something I could read every day without growing tired of it.

Lovebug | @thewinterswimmer​

I have never forgotten this fic. I will never forget it because it is one of the best things i have ever read. You evoked every possible emotion out of me. When I say you took my breath away, I hope you know that’s not an exaggeration. I could feel the time and effort you put into this and I hope you know how appreciative I am of it.

The Ink of My Heart | @theassetseyeliner​

This was easily one of the most unique fics I’ve ever read. I was intrigued by the concept and you kept my interest for the entirety of everything you wrote. Also, you made me realize something I never realized before - I would very greatly appreciate having a tattoo artist!Bucky in my life.

Intertwined | @theassetseyeliner​​

Erin, my love. I am a sucker for royal!au’s and this one in particular was so damn adorable. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I saw the word count for this. It was the perfect length with all the best details and all the most fluffy things going. Just writing about it now makes me want to go back and read it and I think I’m going to do just that.

Home | @spee-iderman​

These days, people make it a habit to refer to things as ‘soft’. You yourself used it in your summary for this fic. And, let me tell you, you did not lie. In this world you created around Bucky and the reader, everything is soft. If I had to compare this fic to an object, it’d be a blanket or a fireplace or anything else that could be used to keep me warm because that’s exactly how my heart felt while reading it. Warm and happy. 

If I’d Stayed | @soldatbarnes​

Nikki, my love. This fic. THIS FIC. What you did with it was you took my heart, which I willingly handed over to you, and smashed it in the most beautiful way possible - with your words. That ending where he’s at her tombstone and he thinks about her refusing to let him go off to war without taking his last name because she wanted him to know she was waiting for him, no matter what?? Killer. You’re much more talented than you give yourself credit for.

Flirt | @soldatbarnes​​

This fic is exactly what I wish would happen to my shy-as-hell self. You captured the whole shyness, being a terrible flirt thing to a tee. I couldn’t just sit back and read this. I had to sit back, read it, and nod along like crazy because I knew exactly where the reader was coming from. And the fact that I couldn’t stop nodding? Well I’d say that speaks volumes about your abilities as a writer.

Hearts Entwining | @lovingkatsuki

Jade, there’s something about your writing. Something I struggle to put into words every time I come across one of your fics. Something I’m struggling to do right now as I think back to how I felt while reading this fic. But here I am, convinced that this will be the time that I finally find a way to properly express myself. I’ve never been to a ballet, but I can imagine that people keep their eyes trained the stage with bated breath as delicate excellence unfolds right in front of their eyes. Hopefully what I just said makes sense because that’s how it felt to read this. 

roygbiv | @marvelous-fiction​

The idea to use colors to describe a person’s feelings is such a brilliant idea and I’m certain that no one could have done this as well as you did. You made me look at the colors in a whole new light and you did it so beautifully. I could feel the love that the reader and Bucky had for each other. And you accomplished that in 1,100 words - I hope you know how impressive that is.

The Five Times You Caught Bucky Blushing | @mindingmyownbusiness​​

Elizabeth, this series of yours is the definition of adorable. I remember sitting at my kitchen table reading through the whole thing with the biggest smile on my face. You know there’s the whole notion of people having ‘feel-good’ things (shows, movies, books, etc.) that make them happy? That’s exactly what this fic was to me.

open letter | @bookybuns​​

Heartbreak is such a complex subject. How does one write about it in a way that is relatable? Understood by an audience who have (potentially) experienced this very emotion, all to varying degrees? Well apparently you, my darling Blade have the answer to this question. You wrote this piece, gave us the juxtaposition of happiness and pain and somewhere in between it all, took my heart with you. And of course, you accomplished such a feat in the most stunning, eloquent way possible.

Bring It to You | @thewinterswimmer​

When I think back on this fic, I remember how well you portrayed Bucky and his general tiredness. You didn’t spend much time describing him and yet, with the small amount of words you did dedicate to him, wow. I felt his exhaustion, which made it that much better when the reader came to save the day. And your descriptions of the reader and Bucky together? Holy hell. I haven’t reread the fic since reblogging it, but I still clearly remember your description of the look in his eyes when he was looking at the reader. And the fact that I remember that really is a testament to your writing.

Like Rose | @viollettes​

Being a beta-reader for your writing was one of the easiest tasks a person could do entirely because there were rarely any corrections that needed to be made. Other than a spelling error or two, everything you wrote was spell-bounding and this fic is no different. It’s an interesting concept really, to take comfort out of a movie that was built around a tragedy. But that’s what you always did, isn’t it? You saw the beauty in everything and I admire you immensely for that.

Steve Rogers x Reader

Two Weeks | @viollettes​

The emotions you were able to evoke with your writing were always out of this world, babe. I will never forget the way my heart ached while beta-reading this for you and knowing that your personal experiences inspired it. You molded something beautiful out of something heart-wrenchingly terrible. You were always good at that.

“Dating Pre-Serum Steve” | @aubzylynn​

I still remember the moment I read this headcanon you had written. It showed up on my dash and I was intrigued. That intrigue quickly gave way to love and admiration because holy hell, you had written something so damn beautiful and amazing. After I finished reading it, I had to stop for a few seconds and take it all in while also reconciling the fact that, unfortunately, there is no pre-serum Steve for me to love. But if you somehow find a way to write one into existence, please remember me.

Wrong Number, Right Person | @4theluvofall​​

There was so much cuteness in this fic. So damn much. Enough to keep me smiling the entire time I was reading it. I love them getting to know each other before actually meeting. I love meddling Tony. I love the nervousness that sets in for the reader after she sends something close to her heart to Steve and fears his response (so relatable!). You gave us all the best things with this fic, truly.

Christmas to Remember | @avengerofyourheart​

ANIKA. YOU BROUGHT BACK MY FAVORITE MINI-SERIES AND I FLIPPED. Not only did you bring it back, you slayed. In this case, the things that were slayed were: my emotions, heart, and soul. But slayed in the best way possible because everything about it was pure gold.

Autumn | @viollettes​​

The last thing we spoke about was this fic and your writing. I can’t imagine a better final conversation to have. This fic was a reminder that hope is out there and I’ll carry that message (and you) with me in my heart. Always.

The Lonely Tree | @sarahwroteathing​

This series took my breath away. Just thinking about it has the same effect. This was a masterpiece, from start to finish. I was also hooked from the very beginning, entranced by your writing style and ability to make me feel like I really was in the story. And don’t even get me started on your portrayal of artist!Steve seriously, don’t - we’ll be here all day.

Peter Parker x Reader

the six stages of falling in love | @parkerstcr​

My darling, May. It is my hope that, at this point, you know how deep my love for this series and your writing is. There’s something beautiful and insanely poetic about the way you write. To say it ‘flows well’ would be the gosh dang understatement of the century. It does so much more more than flow. It soars and it makes me feel like I’m flying right along with it.

enough | @parkerstcr​​

You do angst well. Like too well. Like give my heart a break well. Luckily for me, you did give me a break and let this one end on a high note even though the path to get there was real rough and I didn’t know if I was going to make it out with my heart intact. 

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Stole the Show | @writingruna​

“Pulled at my heartstrings” is an overused expression. You hear it so much that it begins to lose its meaning. For me, that expression gained back all of its meaning after reading this fic. I’m pretty sure my heart was begging me to stop reading this fic because of how much pain it was in. When it comes to angst, you don’t play around and that’s something I’m grateful for. 

Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Know No Better | @ughjoekeery​ 

You know that saying “the best of both worlds”? That perfectly describes this. You gave me Bucky. You gave me insecure Eggsy. You gave me the amazing level of writing that only you can produce. You gave me everything I could ever want and so much more. 

Safe Haven | @ughjoekeery​​

When I was rereading this, the first thing that came to mind was “we found love in a hopeless place”. That’s what happened between the reader and Eggsy. That poor man found the love that he deserved and you gave me Roxy. You are a true angel, a queen, and I’m so thankful to you for writing this and giving me the good stuff my poor soul needed especially after the trash that was Kingsman 2.

[imagineyoungjustice]

1000 Followers Milestone Drabbles 10/15

I have employed these same techniques in my games of Monopoly and no one has beaten me since. My friends actually refer to me as the Monopoly Satan lol. Also the battleship piece is way better than the car and I will fight this. -Terra

Requested by Anon

Imagine game night at Wayne Manor

        You don’t remember who decided to bring out Monoply, but if you had to guess, it was probably Jason. It just seemed like something he would do since he practically lives off of the family drama on these nights. It was one of those rare occasions when Bruce didn’t have any work follow him home form the office and the streets of Gotham were quiet enough to warrant no patrol. It was actually Tim’s idea to have a family game night. Normally, you all would settle down for movies, but it was probably for the best you guys do something different, since the last time Jason ended up with a throwing knife in his shoulder when he commented on Damian getting emotional over a Disney movie.

           You would have preferred it if the girls could have joined in too, but Steph, Harper and Cass already had tickets to the Ballet and Barbara wanted to spend some time with her dad. So all that was left inside the house was you and the boys. It was probably for the best anyway, most board games that you had at the manor only allowed up to eight players maximum. After a few rounds of what you would consider harmless board games, the night ended up where you are now. Before you had even started the game, Damian had called out dibs as the Banker. Of course, that had been met with very loud protests from both Tim and Jason. Bruce had offered next, but Jason had commented that he couldn’t really trust him with money since he had let him die. Both you and Tim had groaned and rolled your eyes at that. Jason never let a day go by without mentioning his death at least once. Dick had offered, but Jason said that he would probably pay favorites and slip both you and Damian extra money during the game. It wasn’t exactly a baseless accusation, he had done it before several times. After a few more minutes of arguments without getting anywhere, Alfred had finally stepped in and declared himself the banker.

        No one had any arguments and the room was relatively peaceful until it was time to choose the game pieces. A fistfight almost broke out over the car piece, and you made sure to grab the battleship one while your brothers argued over a one-inch piece of metal. The car ended up going to Dick after Alfred had to intervene again and draw names. Damian ended up with the dog, Tim chose the cowboy, Jason got the canon and Bruce chose the hat although you could tell that he was actually a little upset that he didn’t get the car. Soon, the game was underway, and the race was on. Damian ended up being the first one out, despite all his gloating and much to Tim’s glee. He had insisted on acquiring only the green and blue spaces on the board, and ended up going bankrupt spending all his money on one of Tim’s spaces. You currently held the most property on the board. You owned all the red spaces, and owned most of the yellow and orange, plus one railroad, electric company, and one purple space. Tim owned the second most, He had the other two purple spaces, and owned two thirds of the green spaces. He also had both the orange and yellow properties you needed. Dick owned the other green space as well as the other three railroads and Bruce owned both Boardwalk and Park Place, and was currently debating about setting up houses. Jason proudly owned waterworks and the light blue and the brown properties, saying that you shouldn’t underestimate them just because they were cheap.

        After Bruce ended his turn, deciding to build a house on both of his properties, it was back to you. You looked over your wealth, and debated over your next move. You had yet to bring out your secret weapon when it came to making deals. But you knew that it was probably time seeing as Tim had what you need to make your ‘Death Alley’ and that he wasn’t likely to budge. Every time you played Monopoly, you knew that players tended to land on the red, yellow and orange properties the most, so you always made it a point to buy those as well as the railroads every time you played. So, with a devilish smirk, you brought your attention back to Tim.

        “No. We’ve already been through this. I’m not giving you three monopolies.” Tim said, seeing what you were going to do.

        “But I have an offer you can’t refuse this time!” You whined, trying your best to pout.

        “Ugh. Fine, but I doubt I’m going to change my answer.”

        You knew you had him, and you had to try hard not to grin as you gave your offer. “For both Tennessee and Atlantic Avenue, I will not only give you one thousand bucks, but you won’t have to pay rent the first five times you land on a monopoly of mine.” You held your hand out for him to shake, making sure to keep up your eye contact the whole time.

        As expected, the table went wild. “You can’t do that!” Jason shouted, standing up from his seat. Dick was in agreement with Jason, Bruce looked impressed, Tim was staring at you with a shocked expression and Damian was laughing, wanting you to win after he was out of the game.

        “There’s nothing saying I can’t.” You shot back, your hand still outstretched to Tim.

        “That’s against the rules!” He tried once again.

        “I am not seeing anything that explicitly says that Todd.” Damian said, waving the open rulebook in his face. With a frustrated groan, Jason turned his attention to Tim.

        “You can’t honestly be considering that.”

        “It’s a good deal though.” He mumbled, looking down at his property.

        “If you take the deal we’ll all lose!” Dick shouted, clasping his hands together like he was begging.

        “But I won’t have to pay.”

       “It sounds like a solid proposal to me.” Bruce interjected.

        “Shut up old man no one is asking you.” Jason snapped back.

        “I have to do it. I’m sorry.” Tim sighed, reaching out and taking your hand.

        “It was a pleasure Timmy~” You sang, grabbing the properties from him and adding them to your own. You immediately started putting houses down.

        “And we thought Damian was the demon. You’ve just doomed us all.” Jason muttered, taking the dice from you after you had finished your turn. After making that deal, it was like you had opened the floodgates. Soon, the rest of the family was making similar deals with each other, and the game quickly descended to hell as more and more houses were purchased. Bruce was the next one out which came as no surprise considering he had the least amount of property. Both you and Tim had managed to acquire one of the blue spaces, and neither of you were willing to give it to the other. After that, it became a heated battle between the four of you. Tim had managed to buy the last purple space from you, and Dick and Jason had bought the Railroad and Electric Company from you as well. AT some point, both Jason and Dick had managed to buy the Green spaces from the two of you, and were currently trying to work out a deal between the two to see who would get the monopoly. Dick ended up with them, after having to fork over most of his cash to Jason, and you saw your opportunity, knowing that the game would never end if it came down to just you and Tim.

        “Hey Tim, I have one more Deal for you.” You said, waving the Boardwalk property card back and forth. You instantly had his attention. “If I give you this card, the two of us team up. We both never pay rent on each other’s properties and we share the victory. Our only goal is to wipe out the competition.”

        He didn’t even hesitate to shake your hand this time. “Deal.”

        “You can’t do that!” Damian just threw the rulebook at Jason’s face.

        A similar deal was made between Dick and Jason, and then the real game began. The game got intense, you and Tim were quick to but the last houses you needed and soon, there were hotels on 8 of your properties, the other four being owned by your older brothers. Tim had opted to keep four houses on Boardwalk and Park Place, figuring that the rent was high enough considering the low chance of landing there. The game had lasted for another few hours until finally Dick landed on Marvin Gardens, which conveniently had a hotel standing tall and proud. After floundering around trying to pay, he had to admit defeat after selling and mortgaging wasn’t enough to save him. Jason was soon to follow after losing the green spaces, and you and Tim were able to bask in the sweet glory of victory.

        “You two only won because you cheated.” Jason grumbled, sitting back in his chair and glaring at the game board.

        “You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first Jason.” You laughed, sitting back with a satisfied grin.

        “Maybe.”

        Bruce just observed his family from the sidelines, helping Alfred clean up the table once it was decided that you guys would call it a night. It wasn’t often he got to have these kinds of nights with his family, but he wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.